The Movement
The Movement A short story by Filemon Iiyambo Translation by U. Uatjiua. “An Owambo , a Herero , and a Damara walk into a shebeen.” We all laughed at the absurdity of the joke. An Owambo and a Damara, yes, that’s possible. They’ll probably be casing the joint, familiarising themselves, so they can rob the place later. Aawambo and Ovaherero don’t like each other, but no one knows why. The two tribes are indifferent towards each other. There is not a person alive today who knows why. The cashier, a blonde Afrikaner woman named Sannette rings up our total. Just over N$6000. “Gaan julle kampeer?” She asks if we’re going camping. We all nod. We’re going camping all right. We’re packing the tent and the camping chairs into the boot of my maroon Dankie Botswana (Toyota Corrolla) when the irony hits me, while looking at our reflections in the front windows of Outdoor Adventures . An Owambo, a Herero, and a Damara. We’re a motley crew of tribal diversity i