This morning began with the usual Namibian chaos — the kind that would make other nations crumble but somehow strengthens our spine. I was meant to leave at 10:00. Junior must be fetched between 15h30 and 17h00. My girlfriend needs a new SIM card because she’s the one who keeps the clients calm and connected. And me? I had to get an original marriage certificate from Home Affairs — and, miracle of miracles, I had it in under an hour.
But there I was at 09:55, opening the gate for the pool guys because the person who normally does it has been fired. Life has a way of laughing at our schedules. If you don’t laugh with it, you’ll cry. And crying doesn’t get Junior fetched.
Yet even in the middle of this domestic circus, my mind drifted to the Middle East — a region where the stakes are far higher than a locked gate or a missing SIM card. A place where “things beyond our control” take on a scale we can barely comprehend.
And still, I find myself strangely hopeful.
Not naïve. Not blind. Just… hopeful.
Because history has never been gentle. We like to imagine that the past was simpler, kinder, more orderly. But that’s only because no one was live‑streaming the worst of it. Our grandparents lived through wars, displacements, shortages, and political storms that would flatten us today. They simply endured it quietly, without hashtags or breaking news banners.
The Middle East today is heartbreaking — families torn apart, futures uncertain, leaders making decisions that ripple across continents. But beneath the noise, there are still people trying to live ordinary lives. Parents fetching children. Workers opening gates. Couples trying to stay connected. Citizens navigating systems that don’t always work.
In that way, we are not so different.
Namibians know something about resilience. We know how to survive the things we didn’t choose. We know how to keep going when the world feels too heavy. We know how to find humour in the absurd — like standing at a hotel gate you didn’t plan to open, watching your day rearrange itself without your permission.
And maybe that’s the lesson we can offer the world:
that survival is not always heroic — sometimes it’s just stubborn.
We don’t give up because giving up has never been an option. We don’t stop hoping because hope is cheaper than despair and far more useful. And we don’t stop believing that peace is possible, even in the Middle East, because history has shown us that the darkest chapters eventually turn their own pages.
So yes, things are tough. Yes, the world feels fragile. Yes, the news is relentless.
But here we are — still moving, still trying, still believing that tomorrow might surprise us.
Call me optimistic if you want.
I’ll take it as a compliment.
