Chronicles of Fly

Be a good neighbor and borrow out some sugar. “Christy-Lynn, open your legs,” Julian said, disdain etched on his face, as he watched Christy-Lynn clumsily attempt to get out of the car, torso first. “If you’re going to insist on doing it that way, then put one leg on the ground first and use the door frame to pull yourself up.”  Gracefulness wasn’t one of her redeeming qualities and Julian never shied away from bringing it to her attention. She closed the door and watched as he sped off up the road. “Boys and their toys,” she said to herself. She loved Julian’s customised Honda Civic, the grunt of the engine sometimes made her nether regions twinge. Nestled on a hill in Rocky Crest, Eagles Nest typified Namibian middle-class suburbia; sprawling apartment complexes with high walls and electric fences. “Windhoek is rising,” Julian always said whenever they discussed how the city was growing. The housing units were double storey duplexes, walled off in pairs, to gi...

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 trib...