Hustling donkeys . . . hate the game


It’s official. Out with the old and in with the new. Another revolution. Yes it is. 

This is 100% Jeremiah back on the scene. This time riding with a group of village dwellers, albeit as a rejuvenated man and the only city slicker within the pack. 

I have since reinvented myself. Not as a sword swinging knight in shining armour with a bigger dislike for the asses but rather as a modern day King Salomon with all the wisdom, glitz and glamour minus the concubines. 

The old booze guzzling Jeremiah, the one who caused the Biblical Prophet Jeremiah to turn in his grave every time he hit a nightspot, is no more. 

There’s a new man in town, with a touch of class and a little bit of cash. Metaphorically speaking this dude is also not dating stupid anymore. Yes, because the party animal persona of that nincompoop will bust his new found groove. 

 It all started when I sat through another episode of the Parliamentary report which happens to be the most ‘entertaining’ shows on national broadcaster. 

This time the stars on the show were pondering the plight of Namibia’s Northerners vis-à-vis the soaring donkey population in the area. Many suggestions where bouncing around from head to head, big wigs at work, but somewhere through the discussions I stopped listening. I was seeing dollar signs. 

Real cash but made easier than one can say 1,2,3. A good percentage of Namibians including myself perceive donkey meat as a delicacy. It’s juicy, easy to cook, not fattening and a far bigger meal than the men’s best friend. Old pal Nickey /Gaseb drops one every time he hits Okombahe and you will never see the end of a conversation in which big Dintwe Mootseng is rambling about donkey liver. 

Get a carcass for N$300 from anywhere or ‘free of charge’ from the north and you will spin N$2,500 out of it. Easy mullah and a grand hustle for a formerly broke scribe like me.  That was the beginning of my life as I now know it. No more run-down shoes and ink in my shirt pockets . . . besides I only have enough ink in my pen to seal Donkey Meat deals and to sign checks. 

This is the life bra . . . chilling at my crib with some donkey on the grill. My pushers working hard as I see my money multiplies. I’m an entrepreneur . . . screw unemployment . . . I’m an employer.  Who cares about the BEE policy or a government tender? 

Look, I’m on my donkey hustle man, flaunting some serious donkey swagger because I can back it up. So don’t hate the player, hate the game. And if you can’t beat me boss, then join me!

Thanks to our crop of law makers. Seriously boss, contrary to popular belief, politicians do make sense after all. Only that one has to meticulously read between the lines.


Jeremiah Ndjoze is an award-winning Namibian journalist.