k.

Hi? welcome😊

[Namibian Sun @namibiansun]

The good husband

Everyone got married this August. Literally everyone. Even Tangeni - who videos himself washing his hands with Hennessy V.S.O.P Privilège in nightclubs - is now a whole husband.

He met his would-be wife at Pharaoh’s at 4am and slept with each other three hours later at his place. Formal introductions were only made after sunset, after they had already chowed each other.

But we’re happy that the one-night stand in December last year morphed into marriage this August. It is an exception rather than a rule. Most one-night stands remain one-night stands, as God and poor decision-making intended.

But marriage is a different beast. And the sooner both parties understand this, the more likely the hasty matrimony is to survive.

Because marriage requires a wholesale change in behaviour, personality and, in some cases, wardrobe.

Things that once impressed that girl suddenly irritate her. Remember how she used to find it cute when you washed your hands with that harmonious French cognac aged in oak barrels? Not anymore.

Now she looks at the same video and asks: “So this is how you waste money?” She even wants you to deactivate Instagram. Apparently it attracts baddies.

Suddenly there is a domestic curfew. As a rule, you must now watch NBC News in your sitting room. No more hanging around at the pub during prime time watching football with men who call each other ‘Grootman’ because they don’t know each other’s names.

And there’s church every Sunday. Every Sunday.

Apparently being a husband also means reducing your carwash sessions at Rands. “What kind of man are you that you cannot even wash your own car?” she asks.

This is a serious question about your masculinity, but you know damn well it is not the soap and sponge she is worried about. She spent years looking at promiscuity unravel at bloody carwashes.

And suddenly, her family is your liability too. If her nephew dies from suffocation after swallowing a marula fruit without chewing it, you can’t just send her off to the village and continue watching Arsenal.

You must go together. And when you get there - bushy beard intact, white T-shirt stretched over your beer belly - you don’t sit around looking important.

You get your hands dirty. Go chop firewood. Ask for an axe. Buy Punyapunya for the weeping uncle as consolation. Ask the cooking aunties if potatoes are enough.

And announce the hymns to be sung during the memorial service. This is not an amapiano fest, Tangeni. Die situasie is nou ernstig.

Then there are mothers-in-law. Always watching your WhatsApp status updates.

If you post yourself watering your garden on a Sunday, your mother-in-law will refer you to the Old Testament, where God commanded Israel to rest on the seventh day.

Apparently polishing your shoes on Sunday contradicts Exodus 20:8-10 and is punishable by fire.

If you post yourself at a nightclub, you have entered a theological debate. If you post a picture with a female colleague, you have entered a diplomatic crisis.

And if you post nothing at all, somehow that is suspicious too. “Why has he stopped posting?” Ah, mothers-in-law!

So, comrades, congratulations for walking that chick down the aisle. Enjoy the honeymoon in September. Enjoy the nyash. Enjoy the occasional breakfast in bed.

But understand that being a husband is a radical departure from anything you have known in relationships.
You are no longer merely somebody’s boyfriend.

You are now a husband, son-in-law, emergency transport, weekend labourer, family representative, church attendee, financial institution and part-time woodcutter. Learn or perish.

And Tangeni, please delete that Hennessy video.

[Gondwana-Lodges @GondwanaLodges]

The oldest desert on Earth. Flooded. This is Sossusvlei today. 🔴🌊 #Namibia #DiscoverEarth #OurPlanetDaily #Travel

[Namibian Sun @namibiansun]

A minister’s first date with Okuryangava clinic

On 1 April – a date usually reserved for pranks – an honourable minister arrives at the Okuryangava Clinic with a limp. The timing is exquisite: barely 24 hours after President Netumbo Nandi-Ndaitwah effectively told Psemas members that private hospitals are now a fond memory.

There are few things more romantic than a first date. The nervous anticipation. The careful wardrobe choice. The hope that reality will match the promises made in WhatsApp chats.

Our minister arrives at the clinic dressed for resilience – comfortable, casual footwear, a belt from which his stomach hangs dangerously, and papers of previous medical treatments held under the sweaty armpit.

The first thing he encounters is not a receptionist. Not a nurse. Not a VIP entrance.

It is a queue. Not a queue in the polite, apologetic suburban tradition. This is a queue that snakes past the gate and curls around a pothole. No bodyguard: only Moses pushing his wheelbarrow of dry mealies from yesterday.

Here, queue etiquette is Darwinian. The last arrival may be the first to enter, especially if accompanied by a fake cough and the confidence of someone who fears neither germs nor consequences. “Jou ma se k***”, he shouts at those questioning his behaviour. “Dis Tura hierso, gaan terug na jou leafy suburbs!"

For the first time in adult memory, the honourable finds himself behind a grandmother who clocked in at 04:30 sharp and ahead of a man with a camping chair. The grandmother monitors her pulse. The minister monitors his dignity evaporate in the scorching sun – because he didn’t know he had to come with an umbrella.

After three hours, the minister tries to gently explain who they are. The queue responds with the warmth of a broken freezer. Rank here is determined by arrival time, not by Cabinet portfolio.

Eventually, entry is achieved. The doors did not open automatically. Only a shove that would have floored Jacques Burger in a rugby contest swung it wide.

Inside, the air is a layered experience: antiseptic, damp files, and the faint perfume of baby poo. It smells like a budget speech that promised glory during Richard Kamwi’s time and was then quietly shoved under Luvindao’s office chair.

By the sixth hour – after completing forms that require information already provided on other forms – the minister finally reaches the pharmacy window.
That is it. The climax. The triumphant resolution of a long administrative pilgrimage.

The pharmacist does not look up – not immediately. When she does, it is with the tranquil authority of someone who has mastered acceptance.

The medicine is – of course – out of stock.
This is the same minister who had once described supply chain chaos as a minor alignment issue. Now he is served the concoction of his own medicine – the pills of empty rhetoric.

He blinks. The pharmacist blinks back. The grandmother from 04:30 collects her diabetes pills and departs like a seasoned champion.

The honourable briefly considers calling his family doctor. Then he remembers the new rules. Public servants must use public facilities.

Outside, the mielie vendor is doing brisk business. The queue has not shortened, it has reproduced.

When the minister finally emerges – untreated but deeply oriented in the realities of his new world – something has shifted.

The long queues are no longer an abstract statistic. The medicine shortage – no longer a line item. The smell of baby poo – no longer a rumour.

It is real. It clings to his suit. It lingers in his hair. It follows him back into the black Mercedes-Benz like a policy memo demanding attention. Happy April Fools!

[🌟Loide.Nghuulondo.🦋 @purposetalks_]

This is such a beautiful reel about our country Namibia..🥹❤️🇳🇦📍 These are the kind of visitors we want!💯🔥🔥

[Africa Facts Zone @AfricaFactsZone]

Namibian Player, Peter Shalulile has become the all-time Top Scorer in the South African League with 130 goals.

He is also the all-time Top Scorer in the Nedbank Cup.

He holds the records for the Fastest Goal in the MTN8 and Fastest Player to reach 100 PSL goals (197 games).

[k. @_merriam_]

Lost and found
Dm

[k. @_merriam_]

@_engin33r Phone 😂

[k. @_merriam_]

Lost and found
Dm

[🌟Loide.Nghuulondo.🦋 @purposetalks_]

Mbaisa answered the question based on her advocacy and I don’t see why it’s wrong. If money wasn’t a problem, she would invest it in making sure fellow creatives such as her are appreciated financially and protected legally and given a form of professional security. Because, why is it that our creatives are suffering? It’s lack of funds, no one is investing in their craft the way they deserve because, their work is not valued. The problem is, we just want to hear about usual “I will buy food for homeless people and build my mom a house.”😫

[k. @_merriam_]

Trust Aina to change outfits 🤗#MissNamibia2025

[I WAS HACKED @NamibianCleaner]

Good morning honorable @ngurare , I have a suggestion in terms of teaching interviews. Written tests should be availed to all shortlisted candidates in other towns via the regional directorates of education. Oral interviews can then be done there via virtual platforms 🙏🏽

[Africa Facts Zone @AfricaFactsZone]

Namibia has been downgraded from an upper middle-income country to a lower middle-income country by the World Bank.

This is primarily due to population growth outpacing economic growth.

[k. @_merriam_]

@_KV_numero_uno_ Yoh🙆🏽‍♀️

[k. @_merriam_]

@mOkapendi Yep

[k. @_merriam_]

@ShaanikaHans @JChimorah Thank you very much

[k. @_merriam_]

@Stix_Munene1 Alright, thanks

[k. @_merriam_]

@Stix_Munene1 Hi? Do you know how I can get in contact with them?.. been try to google but it didn’t help

[k. @_merriam_]

@ShaanikaHans @JChimorah Hi? Mind sending me their number too?🙏🏽

[k. @_merriam_]

@NuuyuniJoseph Yrrr😂😂😂