Namibia, a former German colony, has
been an independent nation since 1990 when it broke with South Africa after a
protracted and bloody conflict. Located on Africa’s Atlantic coast, Namibia is
bordered by South Africa, Zambia, Angola, Botswana, and is separated from a
small slice of Zimbabwe where the Zambezi River arcs between the two nations.
Namibia is a constitutional democracy and is the first nation in the world to
include environmental protections in its constitution. It has a stable
government, and since independence, has managed to avoid the internal strife
that plagues so many African nations. English is the official language;
although, Afrikaans, German, and native languages are also spoken. Much of the
population is multilingual. Its history is like much of Africa’s: tribal rule
followed by colonial rule and finally independence.
Despite the somewhat dodgy reputation of Wikipedia
articles, this one gives an accurate and concise account of Nambia’s history:
“The dry lands of Namibia were inhabited since early
times by San, Damara, and Namaqua, Since about the 14th century AD, immigrating Bantuarrived as part of the Bantu expansion. Since then the Bantu groups in total, known as the Ambo people, have dominated the population of the country and
since the late 19th century, have constituted a large majority.
In the late 19th century during European colonization,
the German Empire established rule over most of the territory as a
protectorate in 1884. It began to develop infrastructure and farming, and
maintained this German colony until 1915, when South African forces defeated
its military. After the end of World War I, in 1920 the League of Nations mandated the country to the United Kingdom, under
administration by South Africa. It imposed its laws, including racial
classifications and rules. From 1948, with the National
Party elected to power, South Africa applied
its apartheid policy also to what was known as South West Africa.
In 1878 the British Cape
Colony had annexed the port of Walvis Bay and the offshore Penguin Islands; these became an integral part of the new Union of
South Africa at its creation in 1910.
In the later 20th century, uprisings and demands for
political representation by native African political activists seeking
independence resulted in the UN assuming direct responsibility over the
territory in 1966, but South Africa maintained de facto rule. In 1973
the UN recognised the South West
Africa People’s Organisation
(SWAPO) as the official representative of the Namibian people; the party is
dominated by the Ambo people, who are a large majority in the territory. Following
continued guerrilla warfare, South Africa installed an interim administration
in Namibia in 1985. Namibia obtained full independence from South Africa in
1990. But Walvis Bay and the Penguin Islands remained under South African control until 1994.”
This
is the center of the downtown area. Windhoek is a city of colonial German style
buildings and glass towers.
Nambia’s capital and largest city is
Windhoek, a place where the past and the present blend in a seamless mix that
would not make sense in another place or time. On the main downtown street,
merchants offer every conceivable modern item while across the street in the
city park in front of government buildings, villagers from the countryside
dressed in traditional garments sell their handmade baskets, carvings, and
trinkets spread out on blankets in the shade of acacia trees. Only the tribe
that clings most closely to the ways of their ancestors, the Himba, are not
seen in Windhoek. Every other group at some point comes to the capital.
For me, the most interesting place we
visited while in Windhoek was a restaurant, Joe’s Beerhouse. Not before or
after have I seen anything quite like it. The roasts of game animals are served
buffet style, accompanied by local fruits and vegetables. The food was
delicious, but it is the venue itself that stands out in my memory. Imagine a
large African mud daubed village style thatch roofed enclosure that is open to
the air in the middle so that the smoke from a huge fire pit can escape. Under
the roof are additional fire pits and dining tables. The walls are decorated with
traditional African artifacts and craft items. The mahogany bar looks like one
at which Hemingway might have once enjoyed a beer. The atmosphere is a
combination of touristy commercialism and traditional African culture. Dining
there on a winter evening is recommended as the fire pits will be roaring and
the buffet will be groaning. It’s a hoot and would make a great setting for a
novel!
***
Title: Miami Days,
Havana Nights
Series
and Book #: sequel to Al Capone at the Blanche Hotel
Author/pen
name: Linda Pennell
Genre: dual timelines of historical
fiction/contemporary women’s fiction
Publisher: Soul Mate Publishing
Date of Publication: July 18, 2018
Number of pages: 556
Word Count: 103,000
Blurb:
Debts. Most people have them. Many involve money. Others
fall into less well-defined categories.
1926, New York City. After witnessing a gangland murder,
seventeen-year-old Sam Ackerman is sent to Miami under Moshe Toblinsky’s
protection. Once in Miami, Sam is forced into bootlegging. He falls in love
with Rebecca, whose devout parents refuse to approve the match until he
disentangles himself from his criminal bosses. With the end of Prohibition, Sam
persuades Toblinsky to set him free. The price? A debt, as Toblinsky puts it,
of friendship. A debt that Sam keeps secret from Rebecca. A debt that will one
day come due.
Present day, Gainesville, Florida. History of American Crime
professor Liz Reams seems to have it all - early success in her field, a
tantalizing discovery associated with old time gangster Moshe Toblinsky, and
the love of a wonderful man. Life is perfect. So why does she keep refusing her
guy’s proposals? Her journey toward understanding begins when she must confront
a long-term, yet unacknowledged, personal debt. Once on the path of
self-discovery, she finds clarification at every turning, most importantly
during her research into Sam’s life. All of these personal revelations come at
a price, however, as she becomes embroiled in emotional and physical dangers
that may prove greater than she can handle.
Buy link: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07F7NFD8K
Excerpt:
Chapter 1
May 18, 1926
105 South Street
New York City
Knocking -
sharp, loud, rapid - echoed through the empty speakeasy. Sam froze, the notes
of a tune stuck in the roof of his mouth. He glanced at the entrance and leaned
the handle of his push broom against his shoulder. Puffs of dust settled on the
floor boards around his feet while he remained motionless.
It was late, too
late, to be admitting customers, even for the city's illegal watering holes and
gambling joints. Although a thick crossbar and several stout locks protected
the heavy iron door, an uneasy feeling crawled down Sam's spine. Growing
tension over control of the Fulton Fish Market, in fact the entire South Street
area, was making a lot of people jumpy, including him.
Several seconds
passed without noise from the other side of the door. Sam let out his breath
and laughed at himself. Working at the fish market in the afternoon then
staying up half the night at the speakeasy didn't leave much time for sleep. It
kept him on edge. All the rumors and threats floating around these days weren't
helping either. Inclining his ear and hearing nothing, he relaxed and gave his
broom a shove.
Bam, bam, bam.
Sam's heart
jumped into his throat.
"Open up,
Monza. I know you're in there." The shout, colored by an Irish lilt, came
from the second floor landing accompanied by renewed pounding. "I come to
talk with ya. We need to settle this business. I got a proposition for
ya."
Sam's breathing
kicked up a notch as he looked over his shoulder toward the office. The boss
didn't like to be disturbed when he was meeting with his guys. The pounding
from outside in the hall returned in earnest, but the office door remained
fixed.
"You gonna
open this damned door or do I break it down?" The doorknob rattled and
jerked.
Behind Sam, the office door clicked open an
inch. He watched in the mirror over the bar as the muzzle of a .38 Special
emerged from the opening, its nickel-plated barrel glittering in the overhead
lights. One of the gangsters stepped into the room, met Sam's eye in the
mirror, and jerked his head, then the room went dark. Sam dropped his broom and
backed into an alcove next to the bar. The office door opened wider. Several
shadows scurried across the floor. Metal locks and bolts snapped and clanked,
then the entrance door swung inward.
Author bio:
I have been
in love with the past for as long as I can remember. Anything with a history,
whether shabby or majestic, recent or ancient, instantly draws me in. I suppose
it comes from being part of a large extended family that spanned several
generations. Long summer afternoons on my grandmother's porch or winter
evenings gathered around her fireplace were filled with stories both
entertaining and poignant. Of course being set in the American South, those
stories were also peopled by some very interesting characters, some of whom
have found their way into my work.
As for my
venture in writing, it has allowed me to reinvent myself. We humans are truly
multifaceted creatures, but unfortunately we tend to sort and categorize each
other into neat, easily understood packages that rarely reveal the whole
person. Perhaps you, too, want to step out of the box in which you find
yourself. I encourage you to look at the possibilities and imagine. Be filled
with childlike wonder in your mental wanderings. Envision what might be, not
simply what is. Let us never forget, all good fiction begins when someone says
to her or himself, "Let's pretend."
I reside in
the Houston area with one sweet husband and one adorable German Shorthaired
Pointer who is quite certain she’s a little girl.
"History is filled with the
sound of silken slippers going downstairs and wooden shoes coming up."
Voltaire
Author website and social media
links:
Website: http://www.lindapennell.com/
Twitter:
@LindaPennell
Newsletter Sign Up: http://www.lindapennell.com/newsletter.html
