I made sure that I was outside the municipal building on the corner of Independence Avenue and Sam Nujoma Drive on Wednesday to see history in the making, or rather in the unmaking. The statue of Curt von François, which had stood there for the past 57 years was being taken down. As we all stood around watching the momentous event, I had the good fortune to meet Von Francois’s great-grandson, Lownan Nangombe, aka ‘Wambüseun’, and to hear his story.
We all know by now that long before Curt von François arrived in the deserted settlement in October 1890 to begin construction of a fort to create a buffer zone between the warring Nama and OvaHerero factions, the name Windhoek was already established. The place had attracted many people over the centuries because of its many springs. Although Jan Jonker coined the name ‘Wind Hoock/Windhoeken’ (Wind Corner) or ’Winterhoek’ in 1840, a name that was later adapted to Windhoek, it had also been known by other names. The oldest recorded name ‘/Ai-//gams’ is attributed to either the Damara or Nama. The name is translated from Damara Nama as ‘Fire Water’ and referred to the hot springs in the area. When in the late 1700s the OvaHerero moved from the north into central Namibia, a man called Tjiraura is said to have called the place ‘Otjomuise’, ‘The Place of Smoke’, after the steam that rose from the springs.
There were other names for Windhoek as well. In response to Jan Jonker’s request for missionaries, Carl Hugo Hahn and Franz Heinrich Kleinschmidt from the Rhenish Mission Society arrived. They called Klein Windhoek ‘Elberfeld’ after the mission school in Germany and called Windhoek, ‘Barmen’. Wesleyan missionaries arriving later on called it ‘Concordiaville’. The settlement was destroyed in the clashes between the Nama and OvaHerero.
I looked over at the spectators. Most were standing in anticipation, wanting the statue to be removed, some saw it as a part of our history, while others felt ambivalent. Lownan, a former rap musician, had mixed feelings. On the one hand he understood the people who wanted it down, but on the other hand he had a genetic link.
Fascinated, I listened to his story, and like many Namibians today, it is one where the borders and boundaries get blurred along the way, and things are no longer black and white, but far more colourful. Lownan’s story began more than a century ago. Few people are aware that Von François married Amalia /Gereses, daughter of a Damara king, and they had a daughter Josephine. She had four children, Gideon, Verona, Erna and Ehrhut. The second oldest child, Verona, married Martin Nangombe, an Owambo man who was a policeman in the South African police force for most of his professional life. The couple had fourteen children, of which four survived.
Sophia, the eldest and Vincent Kambonde, (from the Ondonga royal family) had a son, Lownan. He has German, Damara and Owambo roots and is married to an Austrian woman. Lownan is multilingual and speaks Oshiwambo, Damara Nama, Otjiherero, English, Afrikaans and German. While the statue was being lifted from its pedestal, his uncle phoned him. Lownan told him: “Hulle haal nou die ou toppie af” (They are taking the old man down now.”)
It was food for thought. I had read somewhere that some were born on ‘the wrong side of history’ and I had to think if that would include myself because although I am third generation Namibian, my forefathers came from Germany. But, is there a right and wrong side of history, or is it all a matter of chance where and to whom we are born, where we end up and whether we have a foot on both sides.
Through the years, the statue of Curt von François has caused some consternation as other contentious statues around the world were relocated or taken down. Although Von François had a good relationship with five of the Damara royal houses, which supported the German colonial forces in return for protection from the OvaHerero and Nama Oorlam, the Hornkranz massacre irrevocably marred his record. When he arrived in 1890, he tried to get the traditional leaders to sign a protection treaty with the German Empire. The OvaHerero signed, but Hendrik Witbooi refused. The Germans eventually took action against him with a surprise attack on Hornkranz, Witbooi’s base, on 12 April 1893, killing approximately eighty people, many of whom were women.
Always wanting to dip into history and to find what I can in the archives about all the protagonists, regardless of whether they were hero or villain, I tried to find traces of Von François when I visited Germany a few years ago. I managed to find the house in East Berlin where he lived after he fell out of favour with the German government and was recalled to Germany in 1894. His marriage to Amalia was not recognised by the German government and was annulled. I also looked for his grave, but the cemetery where he was buried, being close to the Berlin Wall, was long gone.
In a 1966 SWA annual, I found a photograph of the 1965 inauguration of the Von François statue. It was part of a week-long celebration for Windhoek’s ‘75th anniversary’. This was tallied from 1890, the time when Von François, who was regarded by the South African administration as the founder of Windhoek, arrived in the settlement. In the photo the South African flag and the old German colonial flag are visible. I noticed that most of the large crowd attending the ceremony was European, but I also discovered some interesting information. It was attended by two of Von François’s daughters, Josephine and Praxedis, his daughter by his German wife, Margarethe Meyer, who he married later on in life. Sadly, due to the segregation imposed at the time, they didn’t meet.
This time, a much smaller crowd than at the inauguration was in attendance. It was a mixed group of people and another relative was there to witness the occasion, great-grandson of Curt von François, Lownan Nangombe. Some of the people wore the bright colours of the Namibian flag. I was grateful to be part of the gathering with members from all ethnic groups and was proud to be a representative of the new Namibia.
The country still has its challenges, no doubt, as someone in a passing car reminded us by shouting: “Now that he has been taken down, give us better service delivery.”
There are two things that stuck in my mind at the end of the thought-provoking day, which put things in perspective. Windhoek has had so many names and there have been so many different people living here over time, from the early days when Damara, OvaHerero, Nama, Germans, traders, explorers and missionaries passed through. I met up with a historian I know at the event and on the question of who was the founder of the city, he replied that the answer lay in Zoo Park. When the fishpond was being built, old elephant bones were dug up from the days when elephants still roamed this part of the country. They also dug up tools from the early inhabitants of the area, the early hunter gatherers. The first inhabitants go way back in time.
It was Lownan, who ended off the morning putting all ghosts of the past to rest. He told me that when he married his Austrian wife, he had to make a decision where to live. He decided that regardless of his mixed background, his home is in Windhoek. And, importantly, as the logo on his cap proudly proclaimed, “Namibia’.
Before Lownan and I parted ways we discussed meeting the rest of the family for a dinner. The Von François name, a name that had been in existence for over a thousand years, had disappeared in Europe but was alive and well in Namibia. In the interesting way life has of having the last word and coming full circle, two days after the Von François statue had been taken down from its pedestal, I met up with the Namibian Von François family just a few hundred metres away. It provided a wonderful opportunity for a family reunion. They brought along photos and were able to give me more information about their lives, contributing to the story. It was an enjoyable evening with members of a family who reflect the various ethnic groups that have merged over the years, embodying our colourful and diverse Namibia.