Why Niko Mattered

Gwen Lister, the editor of The Namibian, sent me this column she'd written for the newspaper's March 28 edition after receiving my letter (below) about the loss of Niko Bessinger.

It hammers home, yet again, just how remarkable this woman is. She is white. But her soul is tied to the black man's struggle. In all of my years in journalism, I found no match for her energy, intelligence, ethics and independence. Here is what she wrote:

I dedicate this column to Namibian hero, freedom fighter and friend, Niko Bessinger (1948-2008)

Farewell Mr B
If you were alive today, you would argue with me as you so liked to do, but I will for once have the last word and affirm that you ARE a Namibian hero, whether the official status is conferred on you or not!

In the 33 years I have known you, in your different capacities of Swapo leader, freedom fighter and friend and self-made man, you've always been honest and forthright – at times my foremost critic, yet a staunch supporter of this newspaper and one of my dearest friends.

I, and other founding staff of this newspaper, will never forgot the moral support you gave us in the mid-Eighties when despondency and disillusion, and yes, even fear, would sometimes set in as our offices were firebombed or the staff harassed and detained, and you urged us as journalists to continue to expose the injustices at the hands of the colonial regime and carry on our advocacy for self-determination and independence for our country, and to make the sacrifices that would be necessary to this end.

On numerous occasions over these decades we've laughed and even cried together; we've discussed and even sometimes believed we had the panacea for the problems of Namibia, Africa, yes, even the world! You often held court, as you loved to do, and endlessly entertained friends and acquaintances with stories of those struggle years. We've often argued, and agreed and disagreed as we debated issues, but always remained close as only good friends can. So often too, you were a voice of reason when emotions ran high; a person who was a peacemaker by nature, and you often used your skills in this regard to good effect.

Those who were not in the country during the struggle years cannot know what an inspiration you were to Namibians living under apartheid or even try to measure your personal sacrifice. Until your death you were one of those who represented the real Swapo, the authentic Swapo, and who never lost your sense of humanity or your commitment to a country that you wanted so badly to succeed.

And yes, you were, like all of us, fallible, and had your weaknesses, but never on matters of principle. Stubborness was certainly one of your traits, and I tried fruitlessly to convince you in the past months and even weeks, not to smoke or drink as you battled cancer. But that was part of who you were, and all your friends knew the futility of trying to budge you when you would not be moved!

And yet you never spoke out of turn. Even in your years as a Government Minister and Party functionary, you would never break the confidence of your office, and I knew better than to try to convince you otherwise! And yet I know too that you defended me even when our association may have been a liability to you politically. But you did not 'sell-out' your friends.

You are truly one of the icons of the liberation years, along with others like the Tlhabanellos, the Maxuililis, the Kambangulas, Tjongareros and Shifidis, all of whom are no longer with us, and many of whom remain unsung heroes of the struggle. You nurtured and encouraged the youthful leadership, including the Lubowskis and others, and you inspired and mentored many.

In one of our last long discussions in the weeks before your death, you commented on how different we are to many other African countries, and you expressed the wish that Namibians would accept one another in their diversity and use it as a strength, rather than a weakness, for our future growth and prosperity.

Your voice is silent now, and I bitterly regret that you are no longer with us to continue forward to the road to make Namibia the success story we both wanted it to be. Yet you will live on in the memories of those you leave behind, serving as an inspiration and a guide. You are at peace now, but the struggle is not yet over for those who continue to advocate for a good society, and it is up to Namibians to follow in the example you set.
You always spoke of the child inside you, your guide and your conscience, and the importance of mothers and how they should be held in high regard. Reluctant though I am to accept your passing, especially since you did not get to tell your life story to the world, I'm consoled by the fact that you may at this time already be reunited with your mother again, a hope you often expressed.

I end this letter to you with the words of Khalil Gibran:

"For what is it to die but to stand naked in the wind and to melt into the sun?
And what is it to cease breathing, but to free the breath from its
restless tides, that it may rise and expand and seek God
unencumbered?
Only when you drink from the river of silence shall you
indeed sing.
And when you have reached the mountain top, then you shall
begin to climb.
And when the earth shall claim your limbs, then shall
you truly dance".

Rest in peace my friend.
Gwen

The Passing of a Great Man

Here's a letter I sent to The Namibian this week after hearing of the death of one of the architects of that country's constitution.

Editor:

Reports of the death of Niko Bessinger brought back vivid memories of a night I spent with this great man in 2001. I was a visiting journalist in Namibia and a mutual colleague brought us together in her garden.

It was early in the meeting that I became aware I was sitting with giants. Mr. Bessinger was not well that evening. We sat in the warm night air and he was wrapped in a thick coat, along with a long woolen scarf. He complained about the flu which he fought off with extensive shots of brandy.

We both drank far too much that night but I revelled in our discussions about his helping in the writing of Namibia's constitution.

I was aware I sat and argued with a man who was Namibia's equivalent of Thomas Jefferson. He touched me with his towering intelligence and his ribald sense of humor.

Namibia is fortunate to have been touched by this architect of your society. I was fortunate to have sat in his shadow that night.

Robert S. Mellis
Palmetto, Florida, USA

On Display

We both have been invited to display six pieces of our art works at the Manatee Art Center shop. And, we hope, they will be sold while we are on our journey north. You can visit some of Jo's fabulous silk painting and a handful of my Raku pottery plaques and boxes and trivets at the my Photo Album link below this post.

Pictures and other stuff

New pictures are at:
http://robertjo.myphotoalbum.com/albums.php

http://mellis.shutterfly.com?a=1
This contains earlier pictures of Namibia and sailing the East Coast and The Bahamas

For a website devoted to our sailboat, Quiet Passage, visit:
http://robertsmellis.tripod.com/index.html

Cutting the Carcinoma

It's never nice to hear the word cancer. But that was the word of the day this week when Dr. Lipscomb cut into my back and excised a basal cell carcinoma from the skin covering my spine.
He'd been keeping an eye on the little blue spot with the three white flecks in it for a couple of months. He didn't like the look of it and so he decided to carve it out and send it off from analysis.
I'd tried to tell him it was actually an implant from an alien. I made this judgement because the spot was so perfectly positioned in the center of my back. I said it was a GPS transmitter so they could keep track of me. He was slightly amused.
The surgery took place in his operating room. The shots for the anaesthetic were more painful than the actual cutting.
He placed six platinum staples on my back to hold the cut together.
Maybe we can sell the platinum for scrap metal when this is all done!

There's Gold Out There

With gold (the pure stuff) now more than $1,000 an ounce, it seemed a propitious time to unload the family jewels that have become broken, twisted or gnarly. We found one piece that fit the description - a necklace I bought for Jo about 10 years back that had a kink it which made it impossible to wear without catching on clothing.
The ads have sprung up in the local rag, encouraging us to unload old gold. So we stopped by the local greasy pawn shop with the sign inviting us in. While Jo stood in line with people who were trying to sell their DVDs or tools, I wandered the shelves and found garbage electronics that were priced just below what you could buy them for at Wal-Mart.
She got to the head of the line and the guy with the magnifying glass weighed the necklace and told it it was worth $75. We thanked him and left.
We then drove to the upscale city of Sarasota to the south. There, a chap named Abraham from New York had set up his salon in a hotel room. He ate a kosher pickle and a sandwich as he weighed and negotiated with the old folks.
All types were lined up with us: dowagers, a little down at heel, but still keeping up appearances; an old man with a cap that announced he was an "Old Fart"; his wife who wore a St. Patrick's Day T-shirt that announced "I got lucky on St. Paddy's Day 1994". There was a young woman sitting next to me. The line moved slowly and eventually we were in the hotel room.
Abraham eyed the necklace, looked at it through his loupe and announced "14 carat" before dropping it on the scale. It weighed a quarter of an ounce, though he described the weight in pennyweights. He calculated and announced the best he could do would be $132. Better than $75 from the greaseballs.
I asked why he couldn't so better since gold was $1,000 an ounce. He checked with the sheriff's deputy who stood guard. The deputy dialed his phone to check the up-to-the-minute price of 24 carat gold: $1,009.50, he announced.
Abraham started to wheedle about how the weight of the spring in the clasp was included in his weight even though it was not gold. We decided to take the offer.
We made our way to Wal-Mart and did our week's grocery shopping. The bill: $135. So we got a week's groceries for "free".