If Taxi Permits Can Expire, Why Can’t Marriages andKapana Stalls?

Last year, the government, in a rare burst of decision-making, declared that taxi permits would now only be valid for two years.

Revolutionary stuff. The kind of governance that makes you sit back and say, “Wow, we’re really tackling the big issues.”

But let’s not be ungrateful, this move might just be the blueprint for solving all our national problems. If it’s good enough for taxis, surely it’s good enough for, well … everything else, right?

Let’s be honest. We all suspect that these taxi permits were initially handed out in the same way we suspect settlement farms are distributed, via that elite Whats­App group where everybody’s name ends in “-ngulu” and the group icon is a blurry logo with the word “…homa”. The rest of us? We’re just renting from the permit mafia.

There’s one guy in Khomasdal who owns 13 taxi permits and doesn’t even know how to drive. He included the permits in his will, right between the cattle and the couch set.

Some have even promised permits to their 20-year-old Nust girlfriends. “Baby, finish your ‘dipoloma’ and I’ll bless you with a new shape Honda Fit.” Romantic stuff.

But boom! Enter Tate Nekundi, that unshakeable warrior of transport transformation. With one stroke of a regulation, he crashed the ‘Permit to Rent’ industry. Or did it? Is it automatically renewable or is there a chance that you might really not get it again?

Anyway. I can’t help but wonder: why stop at taxi permits? What else in this well-organised country of ours deserves to expire every two years?

1. Debts. Yes, Cash Loan Debts.

Why should taxi owners suffer alone?

I propose that all debts also self-destruct after two years. Walk into a cash loan joint, borrow N$10 000, pay the first month’s installment, disappear for 23 months. After that? Clean slate, baby.

Like the person you borrowed from never existed.

But of course, loan sharks are clever, they’d probably just find a way to trade under a different name and sell the old contracts to the new operator. Before you know it, RedForce, which seems to have ‘forever’ contracts, will be at your doorstep.

2. Barbershops: The Original Street Gangs.

Have you ever tried walking past a barbershop without getting abducted? They don’t ask.

They pull. Before you know it, you’re sitting in a cracked chair, listening to Tate Buti’s ‘Teta Teta’ while your hairline is being negotiated.

These guys need regulation. Two years max. After that, hand over the clippers to the next unemployed magician roaming with a portable mirror and dreams. Let’s rotate the power of the fade!

3. Marriages. Hear Me Out.

If taxis can expire, then marriages should too. Let’s normalise two-year marriage contracts with optional renewals. Imagine: no messy divorces, just “contract not renewed” via a magistrate court’s SMS portal. Simple.

Romantic. Efficient. If your partner refuses to share the blankets or suddenly joins Herbalife, you just ride it out for 24 months and then legally return them to their parent’s house. Boom. Freedom.

4. Restaurants and Kapana Stalls.

You ever notice how restaurants start off strong with a full menu, smiling waiters and food that doesn’t kill you, and then somewhere between month 18 and 24 the pasta becomes depression on a plate?

That’s your cue: shut it down.

Expire it. Make space for someone else to bring back that flavor. Same with kapana vendors. These uncles started with generous portions and soft “outete”, but soon we were paying N$80 for six strips. You can count those pieces the same way you can count KFC chips, exactly seven in total.
Nee man. Everyone deserves a shot at the good life.

5. Bazaar Buses and Trailer Takeovers.

Every weekend, a convoy of food trailers and knock-off perfume stalls appear at festivals and markets like migrating birds. But who regulates them?

Do they have permits? And if they do, how do I get one? I’ve got dreams, too.

I want to sell mopane worms at the coast, preferably with an ocean view and free Wi-Fi.

But I’m always late to the game because someone’s cousin’s neighbour’s friend “reserved the spot” using an expired tow license and a folding chair. It’s time to level the playing field.

Final Thoughts: Two Years Across the Board

This two-year idea? It’s genius. It’s democratic. It’s deliciously chaotic. In fact, I propose we rename it ‘The Nekundi Principle’, a bold national policy of rotating opportunities and collapsing empires every 730 days.

Because fairness is not about having everyone eat at the same time. It’s about giving everyone a chance to lick the plate.

So, from now on, if something is annoying, unproductive, exploitative or boring? Give it two years. No more, no less. Taxi permits. Marriages. Kapana stalls. Haircuts and Omaruru municipal councillors. Two years, baby. Then we see if we still like it.

Let the countdowns begin.