Mukwahepo: Women Soldier Mother

By University of Namibia Press

In 1963 Mukwahepo left her home in Namibia and followed her fianc across the border into Angola. They survived hunger and war and eventually made their way to Tanzania. There, Mukwahepo became the first woman to undergo military training with SWAPO. For nine years she was the only woman in SWAPO s Kongwa camp. She was then thrust into a more traditional women s role taking care of children in the SWAPO camps in Zambia and Angola. At Independence, Mukwahepo returned to Namibia with five children. One by one their parents came to reclaim them, until she was left alone. Already in her fifties, and with little education, Mukwahepo could not get employment. She survived on handouts until the Government introduced a pension and other benefits for veterans. Through a series of interviews, Ellen Ndeshi Namhila recorded and translated Mukwahepo s remarkable story. This book preserves the oral history of not only the dominant male voice among the colonised people of Namibia, but brings to light the hidden voice, the untold and forgotten story of an ordinary woman and the outstanding role she played during the struggle.

• Language: English
• Publisher: University of Namibia Press
• Release date: Oct 22, 2013
• ISBN: 9789991642215

Book preview

WOMAN

1

LIFE-CHANGING WORDS

‘I have come to collect you. I want you to pack your bag so we can leave right now, tonight, this moment. I will explain to you later where we are going. But it is a long journey that I cannot take without you.’ These words, spoken by my fiancé, Shikongo shaHangala, changed my life completely. They marked the starting point of an arduous and testing physical, emotional and psychological journey; a journey that transformed me from a shy, traditional Owambo village girl to a national hero; a mother of the struggle for the freedom and independence of Namibia.

On that fateful Saturday in March 1963, I had joined my aunt and some other women in the neighbouring homestead to perform ekolo.⁸

While we were busy harvesting, a child came running to find us. She was sent to fetch me because there were important visitors at our home who were urgently asking to see me. The child did not give any details about who the visitors were or why they had not come to the harvesting site to find me. Bewildered, I left my harvesting duties and headed home, where I found two men waiting for me.

The men informed me that they had come from Ongandjera. Shikongo shaHangala had sent them to tell me that he was about to undertake a very important and urgent mission, and wanted me to prepare myself for this journey with him because he would not go without me. He would come later in the evening to fetch me and wanted to find me ready for the journey. They warned me not to tell a soul about the mission.

As I returned to my task of harvesting marula, I wondered why my fiancé wanted me to go along with him, and how long the journey would take. As soon as we had finished, I rushed home, packed my belongings quickly, and continued with my usual household chores of cooking dinner for my family. I also informed my aunt and uncle that Shikongo would be visiting us that evening.

I expected Shikongo to arrive in a respectable manner that was acceptable to my parents and I. When he eventually did arrive, however, he came embarrassingly late. He offered his apology, and my parents accepted his explanation because he had walked a very long distance from Ongandjera to Onengali yaKaluvi in Oukwanyama. In those days, it was difficult to get a lift as very few people owned cars. Shikongo was allowed to visit me and to spend an evening or night with me at least once or twice a year.

According to traditional culture, when a couple were engaged and slept in the same bed, the boy was to sleep with his clothes on so that the next morning his body and clothes would be red from the ochre dye that had been applied to the girl’s body. This was proof that he had spent the night with her. The boy would then spend several days in those clothes to demonstrate to the world that his fiancée was a traditional girl, and for everyone to know that he had visited her. The boy would feel great pride to show that his fiancée was a girl of culture and tradition. If the girl’s parents failed to cover their daughter well with dye, and the following day the boy had no dye on him, it was considered a big social shame to the girl’s family, and a public humiliation for the boy. The boy then had the customary right to dump the girl, who was considered scandalous. If a boy and girl were engaged, and both sets of parents recognised their engagement, they were allowed to spend time together, although they had to obey certain rules. They were allowed to caress each other but only when they were alone in the girl’s room, and usually when it was dark, but they were not allowed to hold hands or kiss in public. They were also not allowed to have intercourse. If they did, and the girl fell pregnant, both of them would be disgraced through public burning until death. Every young person knew that pregnancy before marriage was a taboo and a capital offence.

I came from a family that had been converted to Christianity during the early encounters with missionaries. I was therefore not cleansed and oiled like girls from non-Christian homes. Christian girls did not go through the oiling practice because the Church disapproved of sleepover visits.

If the boy was coming to spend the night, the custom was that he should arrive at least before sunset, or before the cattle returned from grazing. It was considered extremely disrespectful for a prospective son-in-law to enter the house after this time. If this happened, the father of the girl had the right to chase the scandalous boy away and bar him from marrying his daughter. Usually, the boy initiated the visit by informing his parents, who in turn would send a messenger to ask permission from the girl’s parents, at least a week in advance, so that they could prepare their daughter both physically and psychologically for his visit.

In Christian families, when a boy slept over at his future father-in-law’s house, he was obliged to wake up in the morning earlier than everyone else in the household and start working in the field, milking the cows or mending the fences. This was to show his male talents to the girl’s family and the whole community. The father-in-law and brother-in-laws would accompany him so as to study his work ethics and his manly manners, and to assess whether he was a man capable of being entrusted with their daughter or sister. During the day, even the neighbours would come to observe and evaluate the worthiness of his work and to ask him questions. The father-in-law may have asked his future son-in-law to build him a hut, not necessarily because he needed a hut, but simply to evaluate his skills. The son-in-law would begin to design the base and put up the structure under the watchful eyes of his in-laws, who would also actively engage him in conversation. They would even offer him food, to test whether he would compromise work for food; whether he would leave work unfinished to go and eat. This social conduct allowed the girl’s family to study the personality of the boy. The boy knew that he would be watched and tested; his parents would have prepared him psychologically to go through these community assessments of his worthiness as a man.

The girl was also allowed to have a sleepover visit at her fiancé’s house, but she was usually accompanied by two or three of her best girlfriends. She too was subjected to rigorous observation by her prospective in-laws. The girl had to wake up very early in the morning to pound mahangu into flour, a task she was expected to accomplish before sunrise. Later in the morning, she was expected to go into the fields to demonstrate her ability to till the land (takupaula etemo). Usually, parents would prepare their daughters well for such visits so that they did not disgrace their families and the people who had raised them. These kinds of interactions, although stressful for the young couples, were important socially. They also allowed couples to get to know one another before marriage. Engaged couples carefully selected the right friends to accompany them on such visits. The friends acted as advisors, timekeepers and bodyguards, and any mistake in choosing a friend could cost a girl or boy their marriage.

According to our culture, I was no longer considered a girl because, from the day my family had put me through the traditional wedding transitional rites, I was considered a woman. So, on that Saturday in March when Shikongo arrived at my home, he was served some traditional food, and as soon as he had finished eating, the people in our home went to bed, leaving us alone to discuss things.

I was eager to find out what Shikongo had in mind, but he waited until the whole household was quiet. It was then that he said those fateful words that changed my life forever; that he had come to collect me to go on a long journey with him that he could not undertake without me. He told me that we were going to meet some of his friends at Oshikango, and that from there we would continue our journey into Angola.

It is difficult to tell you why I followed Shikongo shaHangala, especially as I did not even know the place we were going to. I loved Shikongo. He was my fiancé and I trusted him. I felt that he would not take me anywhere unless he was sure that the place we were going to was safe and would meet the approval of my parents. And so, with this faith and trust, and a bag containing my few belongings, I embarked on an eventful and dangerous journey that would take me through Cabinda (a province of Angola), the Congo⁹, Northern Rhodesia¹⁰ and Nyasaland¹¹ to Tanganyika.¹² I also had no idea that I was making history by becoming the first Namibian woman to cross the border into exile to join SWAPO.

******

But before I tell that story, I should explain a little about myself.

I was born Mukwanangobe Aguste yaImmanuel, the daughter of Immanuel Haipinge and Antonia Ndemweetela yaMwalondange. I come from a very small family with a complicated history. I am the lastborn of my parents’ three children. My father, Immanuel Haipinge, was an only child, and nothing is known about whether he had any brothers or sisters whom he had not met. The only relative we knew from my father’s family was his uncle, Haimini yaHalweendo. The relationship between my father and uncle Haimini was also never explained, even though when I was growing up I felt the very close relationship they must have had. I find it sad that this relationship was not explained to us because it is very important for me to know how I relate to people. However, I have grown with it and accepted this reality.

The maternal side of my family has its roots in Kaoko. One thing I vividly recall is my grandmother reminding us from time to time that ‘fye Ovashimba va Kaoko’ (we are Ovashimba from Kaoko). As a child, the tonation of the ‘shimba’, ‘themba’ or ‘himba’ did not really matter to me because in my mind it referred to the same thing. You (rightfully) asked me today whether I descend from the Ovatjimba, Ovazemba or Ovahimba. My answer is that my forbearers are now not here to clarify this matter, but I initially understood it to mean Ovazemba from Kaoko.

My mother, Antonia Ndemweetela yaMwalondange, was the daughter of an Ovazemba woman from Kaoko. Both my great-grandparents are Ovazemba from Kaoko, who migrated to Ongandjera with their two children, a boy named Malenga (Namalenga) and a girl named Sofia shaMungoloka, my grandmother. Mungoloka, our great-grandfather, was apparently a very rich man. He possessed a lot of cattle. I can still remember how my mother used to talk about him and his wealth, especially his