Born into a war, I was a refugee by 11, living in a tent in Guam, then an army barrack in Arkansas.
In 2015, I wrote “Our Refugee Future,” because I knew that nearly all of us, even the most comfortable or smug, were only too likely to become refugees soon enough.
I said, “There is always an economic reason behind a refugee crisis. People flee because they can no longer make a living due to a tyrannical government, foreign intervention or evil ideology, not just bombs falling.”
And, “Count yourself lucky if you’re allowed to thrive in your native environment, a place you’ve been groomed for since birth. Too many of us, though, have been forced to reinvent ourselves to somewhat fit into one or even several alien environments.”
I’ve also said repeatedly that Mexico would need a border wall more than the US, to block panicking Americans from flooding into their country.
Each time I talked about America’s dismal prospects, I would get shouted down, predictably, with one reader screaming that the USA would be number one for the next five hundred years. Poor man’s no student of history. When I suggested the best solution was secession, to protect local freedoms and autonomy from Washington’s suffocating diktats, another reader sneered that I, as “a perennial ESL students,” had no business advocating the breakup of “his” country. One man said it was “an affront” for a yellow man to discuss America’s problems. These will be solved by people of European descent only. Since they’re doing such a great job, as we can all see, I should just bug off.
Since Covid broke out, I’ve been to Laos, Vietnam, South Korea, Serbia, North Macedonia, Lebanon, Egypt, Albania, Montenegro, South Africa and now Namibia. Though each of these countries face serious challenges that are compounded by Covid, with Lebanon perhaps the most imperiled, all of these societies are still more intact and resilient than the crumbling USA, with cracks everywhere you look, with smoke, if not fire, billowing out of windows.
Collectively threatened, Americans are still stuck on red vs. blue, blacks vs. whites or Biden suckers vs. Trump swallowers, etc. In the mainstream and alternative media, Jews rile racial bile. Works every time.
Glad to be in the cheapest seats, they cheer for their favorite playas, while just outside the stadium, everything burns. Leaving the rigged game, they’ll spend the rest of their lives trying to find their clunkers. “I’m pretty sure it was right here. How are we going to get home?”
But home, too, is gone. There’s nothing to return to. Klaus Schwab, “Many of us are pondering when things will return to normal. The short response is: never.”
I’ve written, “There’s no true resistance or hope for America until the first meaningful assassination. Only galvanized by this can a pushback begin,” and who knows, this can still happen. All it takes is the first man with balls, and access, of course. You can’t win, though, if you don’t even know who you must fight. Isn’t that obvious?
War produces many more refugees than warriors or martyrs. Threatened, people will run.
Outside a downtown shopping mall in Windhoek, there’s a 62-year-old Serb who sells T-shirts, caps and posters celebrating leftist leaders, like Chavez, Lumumba, Biko and even Stalin. A poster depicting “RUSSIAN TZAR PUTIN” is not meant ironically, for the Serb loves this much-demonized adversary of America.
Escaping the war that broke up Yugoslavia, he’s been in Africa for 30 years, with stays in Angola, Uganda, Zambia and South Africa. “Namibia is best,” he tells me. A hardcore Communist, he had no cause to fight for in Yugoslavia, even if he was inclined.
When I ask him if he misses Serbia, he makes a hugging gesture and says, “No, I’m not,” to mean he’s no clinger. He hasn’t been to Serbia in 15 or 20 years, he can’t even remember.
As a white refugee in black Africa, the Serb is unusual, but there will be more, millions more. Even before Covid insanity, many Germans and Englishmen were buying houses in Cape Town to move in. There, I also met a Lebanese realtor who was counting on his fluency in English, French and Arab to sell houses to foreigners.
When I pointed out that, despite its problems, Cape Town had some magnificent neighborhoods where whites lived splendidly, I was, predictably, screamed at by angry white Americans. They just wanted to believe no whites could live peacefully in Sub-Saharan Africa, because, you know, all these uncontrollable blacks just couldn’t wait to rape the nearest white woman. For these raging whites, it’s an unending pornography, apparently.
Say refugees and most people will think of black, brown or yellow hordes invading white nations, but most Arab refugees, for example, end up in nearby Arab countries. Before it was itself attacked, Syria absorbed at least 1.5 million Iraqis fleeing white/Jewish aggression. In tiny Lebanon, there are nearly half a million Palestinians escaping Jewish violence. Fighting for themselves or Jews, white nations have generated millions of refugees. Now, many whites will learn what it’s like to be refugees themselves.
I have a German friend who’s seriously considering Namibia as a refuge. He cites all the nonsensical Covid rules strangling Germany as a reason to get out. He asked me for some practical information, and if I had met Germans in Deutsch-Südwestafrika?
I answered, “If you want to come to Windhoek, then get a room in Klein Windhoek, a neighborhood with many Germans. It’s not cheap here, but still a lot cheaper than Deutschland.
“Dropping into a random café in Klein Windhoek, I sat near four German speakers, and the waiter also spoke to them in German.”
Any reassuring tidbit can help a prospective refugee.
It turned out the Klein Windhoek café was owned by the coach of the Namibian field hockey team, and the waiter, Nicolai Hilbert, was one of his players. Even with minnow Namibia losing nearly every match, it’s still worth it to compete, Hilbert indicated by touching his heart.
At Old Location Bar, I meet another Namibian of German descent, but this man, a tour guide in his early 30’s, has only been here a decade.
Eighty-five percent of Namibia’s foreign tourists are German speakers, he tells me. Because of Covid travel restrictions, he couldn’t work for 18 months, so had to learn how to make lawn furniture to barely get by, but the tourists are back, so all is well.
Although he still goes home occasionally, he doesn’t miss it. In fact, he’s thrilled to be away from Germany, and even other Germans. That system is going down the drain, he says, for people have to work like robots until they’re 69-years-old, to support a vast welfare state that also takes care of too many immigrants.
As we talk, I enjoy an excellent plate of rice, spinach and dried meat strips (eedingu). The Hansa Beer is only so-so.
“Hey, this food is pretty damn good!” I blurt.
“Yeah, I know. I’ve tried everything here.”
Preferring Namibia and even Uganda to South Africa, he’s committed to being a white African, just like the Serb, and perhaps even my German friend.
Soon, maybe we can have a few beers together at Old Location. I’m looking forward to it. Except for the mask wearing, life is normal here.
One UK reader, though, sees no point in my sketches of Namibia, “Why do people that travel, especially to obscure useless cowering 3rd world countries, have to natter about it like it is something special or even interesting?”
There is no cowering here, so what is he talking about? Whites are the most brainwashed, browbeaten and emasculated right now. There are no races or sexes, a man can get pregnant and, of course, trust the science! With no legal basis, Austria is imposing another severe lockdown. Look at what’s happened to Australia or Lithuania.
Entire worlds flourish outside your blinkered purview. Arrogant ignorance dooms.
Uncowed by Covid diktats, black Africans are least likely to poison themselves or their children, just to serve up a greener earth for white and Jewish global controllers. They want to squeeze the last cent from us as they kill us. Death injection ain’t free. Pfizer has already made billions from its genocidal jabs.
My German friend better get the hell out before Jewish poison becomes mandatory. There are other dangers. I urge him, “Come before entry rules change or German borders are sealed.”
I also warn, “In 1975, Vietnamese who hesitated about getting out had to suffer through the evil Communist takeover, then risk their lives to escape by sea, with thousands dying.”
Meanwhile in Windhoek, the sun shines each day, for it’s spring. Most pleasantly, there are no mosquitoes at night. Since we’re in the middle of a vast desert, there’s no standing water for them to breed.
Cape Town has all these wild Egyptian geese, but those pond and lush lawn lovers are nowhere to be found here. One day, though, I did run into four parakeets living in a broken streetlamp. Without being provocative, I asked these bird brains if they intended to be vaccinated?
Wagging his hooked beak, one replied, “Asking such a stupid question, you must be an American! You’re so moronic, you’re ready to kill each other to elect Biden or Trump!”
Another jumped in, “Go lick Rochelle Walensky’s twat, you trembling pussy!”
A ten-minute walk will take me to Wernhill Park, where I can get a pretty good bacon cheeseburger at Wimpy, and that’s enough. I don’t need giraffes, zebras, springboks, hippos or lions, just normality on a gloriously blessed spring day.
It’s also healing to hear children’s laughter, and, well, catch a few glimpses of the pretty and elegant waitresses. “Are you doing OK, sir?” one would smilingly ask, with her thumbs up.
“I’m doing fine.”