The Unspoken Diary of a Namibian Girl

Part 1

Dear Diary,

Returning to town from the village to resume my studies feels like a big change. In the village, life was slower, quieter, and simpler. Now, in the bustling town, everything is so fast-paced and noisy. It's both exciting and overwhelming. I missed my friends and the opportunities here, but I also still wish I had more days off to enjoy the peaceful village...But anyways...I'm ready to dive back into my studies and make the most of this new chapter.

You might wonder why I go back home, and the answer is something only a typical Wambo girl could comprehend. It's a matter of tradition, a unique cultural norm where parents have their own homes and anticipate their children's return every season, as if we are the owners. Funny!

Despite all that, I do have genuine affection for my home. The tall trees, lush forests, and the distant howls of wild animals at night create a special type of beauty. However, my only fear is the presence of snakes, always seemingly poised for an attack whenever you cross paths with them.

While some might perceive going to the village as a choice, it's a decision influenced by many factors. The options typically involve staying with aunts, uncles, or siblings who have houses in town and want a family nanny—it's a joke, or even a boyfriend with his own place. But my circumstances aren't quite the same. When my mother speaks, her words carry an authority that not even my grandmother can challenge. It's a curious dynamic, and at the end of the day, I often find myself knocking at my mother's door. Isn't she just the woman she thinks she is? Intriguingly, despite my musings, I still admire the woman my mother is. Her influence and presence are undeniable.

While relaxing on my bed, sipping my morning rooibos tea, I think about the conversations at family gatherings, the ones where they ask about my plans for the future. 'What's next for you, my dear?' they inquire with knowing smiles. Little do they realize that my dreams don't always fit neatly into the frames society has set.

The sun has climbed higher, warming the pages as I start writing. I've decided that it's finally time to give my tiny cozy bachelor flat a much-needed cleaning. By the way, I've been living here for over three years now, and while it's a snug space that I've grown fond of, it's evident that it could use a good sprucing up. This place holds a lot of memories and comfort, and it's time to bring back that fresh and inviting atmosphere.

I remember when my dad, in his own sweet and efficient way, chose this flat for me. Well, I should say he more or less just went for it. It's a classic example of how men operate—no time to fuss over checking and searching when they've already made up their minds. Unlike us women, who can spend hours scouring through stores for the cheapest perfect item, even if all the options are essentially the same.

Dad's decision was swift, and I'm truly grateful for it. He always goes above and beyond for me and my siblings. He's the kind of person who doesn't complain, no matter how much effort he's putting in for us. He's a silent support, and his actions speak volumes. I'm reminded of how he's there for us without needing to voice his efforts.

On the other hand, my mother, well, she's the one who often voices her concerns. Especially when it appears that we might be forgetting the value of money and how it's earned. Her reminders are like a reality check, grounding us and reminding us to appreciate the hard work that goes into maintaining our comfortable lifestyle.

As I get ready to tidy up my flat, I'm reminded of the principles my parents have instilled in me—efficiency, gratitude, and an understanding of the worth of things. Cleaning this space is a way to honor their efforts and to create an environment that reflects the care and love that's been poured into my life.

The day is waning now, and the sky is in patterns of orange and purple colors.

Until tomorrow,

Iyaloo