OPINION: Is Namibia a ''Nation of Drunkards''?

    A worrying trend emerged in Namibian politics and civil society a few years ago, when persons in authority took it upon themselves to level a spurious allegation against the blemish-free characters of upstanding, law-abiding, fun-loving Namibian citizens. 

    The allegation, uttered for the most part passionately, often beseechingly, and in the case of the clergy, with contempt, thinly disguised as ''humble pleas'', soaked in sulphurous warnings, from the lonely peaks of pulpits focused on a particular facet of the average Namibian's social life, namely, our fondness for a variety of foaming, hop beverages, the fermented grape and barrel-matured, triple-distilled hooch. 

    We, decent and (mostly) sober citizens, under the scorching sun in the Land of the Brave, stand accused of being a ''nation of drunkards''.

    The allegation has a remarkable history and originated at the proverbial ''top''. Lush with the achievement of independence from South Africa, we accidentally democratically elected Dr. Sam Nujoma, the first president of Namibia, a man who was, and still is, a consummate, hard-line teetotaler. He soberly waited for our sloshed, euphoric spirits to subside and then proceeded to jog twice a day, eat the healthiest of foods, get wasted on health shakes, caring for his body like a sacred temple, and publicly recommended that Namibians employ ''moderation'' as a moral yardstick. Behind closed doors, it was rumoured that he harshly criticised members of his cabinet suspected of consorting with Bacchus. 

    For Dr. Nujoma's pleasure, the good citizens of our country congregated discreetly in the veld around Oanob Dam (remote rural), in Keetmanshoop (far south), in the villages of Omuthiya and Ohangwena (deep north), on the beaches of Swakopmund and Walvis Bay (far west), at Rundu Beach (even deeper north), including suspicious bars in Gobabis (dark, dank caverns of political iniquity), and partied as per the usual manner. It was good etiquette, in those days, to vehemently deny imbibing, afterwards, to all and sundry: ''What, me? Says who! Never! Are you drunk?!'' Typical.

    Anyone who has tried a hand at it will assure you that nation-building is a precarious business at best, and a game of hopscotch in an Angolan minefield, at worst. More than a hundred years of colonialism, eighty of those devoted to Apartheid, including a brutal Border War (1966 - 1989), are mountains for a newly independent nation to overcome. 

    Namibians showed true grit after independence, socialised with enthusiasm, organised parties, dinners, braais, weddings, baptisms (resourceful and adaptable as always), the odd funeral party, and in the process discovered that the elixir to cross-cultural dialogue, paving the way for social cohesion, lay beneath the cap or cork of a bottle of the good stuff. What better way to calm the nerves, drop the guards, loosen the joints, and get the conversation going?

    In 2005, after the inauguration of our current president, Hifikepunye Lucas Pohamba, Namibians thought the time for celebration had truly dawned with the lively annual opening of parliament and a blushing, new captain at the helm. The new president however, surprised everyone in 2005, when he declared with something akin to revulsion and probably after prolonged, solitary deliberation, that he ''doesn't want to lead a nation of drunkards''. At the time, we were guiltily outraged and shamefully indignant, in the throes of rancid, skull-crunching hangovers. 

    Since that ominous presidential proclamation, the accusation that we're indeed a nation of drunkards, gained momentum. As if on cue, phlegmatic members of the clergy howled to the heavens, lamenting the moral degradation of Namibians, while a variety of civil society and youth organisations jumped unsteadily, drunk with self-righteous indignation, onto the ''drunkards''-wagon, pewter-faced after a night of indulgence. Comatose members of parliament slurred that slowly but surely, we're becoming a nation of drunkards, before dozing off in their seats. Flushed politicians and organisations who lamented that more money is spent on alcohol than on education, clearly do not understand that there is no relationship between alcohol and education. Fact. 

    Namibians are not ''drunkards'' by anyone's subjective standards even though the NSA (Namibia Statistics Agency, relax) gave us a nasty turn by publishing a damning report on alcohol consumption in November, last year. According to that heinous report, Namibians are now drinking more than ever in the short history of our country and, based on verifiable data collected over a period of time (the time it took to pop a beer), the average Namibian now consumes 10 litres of alcohol a week! Windhoek, our beloved capital city, is sarcastically hailed as ''the drinking capital'' by the (barely sober) local press, after the city scored an impressive 69.9% (almost a ''B'') on the national index of alcohol consumption. Yes, there is such a thing. 

    We all know that the legal age to consume alcohol on Namibian soil is 18. We're very informed about this point on the map of sobriety because it's on the label of every bottle of spirits and the punchline to every beer advertisement: ''Not for sale to persons under the age of 18.'' 

    We also instinctively know that due to the inherent flaws in the structure of sweeping statements, not every Namibian consumes alcohol. It's a factual impossibility. It sounds far-fetched, to begin with. Our employers, for one, are very strict about enforcing the no-alcohol policy making it safe to assume that while at work, at least, most Namibians experience episodes of sobriety for 8 to 10 hours, every day. Secondly, children, for obvious reasons, do not (should not) consume alcohol, the sick, the infirm, the religious ''reborn'', the ''saved'' converts who met Jesus while wandering through the Namib Desert, do not consume alcohol (or so they say), and many others abstain for a variety of inexplicable reasons. 

    In our defense, those dishing out insults should try surviving the annual year-end holidays in any part of the country without a cold beer onhand. Christmas coincides with summer in the southern hemisphere and with temperatures soaring to 40 degrees Celsius (in the shade), no Namibian, who loves her / his country, enjoys cooking in her / his skin, sweaty day in and sticky night out. Enter the crisp, refreshing taste of an ice-cold Windhoek Lager to standing ovation. Naturally. 

    We appreciate the good efforts made by the NSA in publishing its insightful report, and we ''hear'' (you) the clergy and scowling, sour-faced politicians, and as mature, responsible consumers of alcohol we warn each other not to drink and drive but to arrive alive all the time, we'd like for liquor licenses to be revoked if it becomes known unscrupulous vendors are selling alcohol to underage patrons, we wish for IDs to be shown when alcohol is sold, we also prefer for drinking spots not to operate in residential areas (or near schools), we know it's against the law to consume alcohol in public (and to be inebriated in public), we support the enforcement of these regulations because these are our communities, after all. 

    Lastly, ours is the home of Windhoek Lager. We're simply patriotic when it comes to our choice of beer and moonshine. Yes, occasionally we'll drink ourselves blind to the health of...well, anyone and anything, but we'll also stubbornly persist with harbouring fanciful hopes that ours is not ''a nation of drunkards'' as those in authority would have us believe. 

    Should we be concerned that hardly anyone of drinking age in our beautiful country has heard of AA? Indeed, if you care to ask around, some may even volunteer the latter stands for ''automobile association'' and that it's a great company to call when you're stuck on the highway with a flat tyre. 

    Are we a nation in denial? 

    Written by freelance social researcher and writer, Anya Namaqua Links: anyalinks@gmail.com