“He once gave up his room for me while he went to spend the night at his mother’s house, then returned the next morning with a helicopter to fetch me. He was really my chommie.”

‘Chommie,’ an informal term for friend, was how 89-year-old José Luis Bastos described Founding President Sam Nujoma, with whom he had been friends for over three decades, during an interview with Nampa.

His voice carried the weight of a friendship that spanned decades, a bond built on mutual respect, trust, and shared moments of simplicity. His friend, Nujoma, was more than just a political icon—he was a brother.

Bastos, who is originally of Spanish descent, vividly remembered the first time he met Nujoma. It was in the early days of Namibia’s liberation struggle, a period marked by uncertainty and resistance. The two met on 12 October during the celebrations of that country’s national day.

“We wanted to buy some land with two other partners, and Walvis Bay was still part of South Africa then. We needed to arrange a meeting to see how things would work out.”

During that first meeting, Nujoma offered a piece of advice that would later prove prophetic.

“He told us, ‘Buy from the South Africans; one day they will be out.’ His foresight was incredible. He saw the future before any of us could.”

Shortly after their initial encounter, Bastos invited Nujoma to visit his farm in the Namib Desert, a few kilometres from Walvis Bay. It was a simple invitation, but it marked the beginning of a lifelong friendship.

“He arrived the next week,” Bastos said with a chuckle. “And there he was, swimming in the cold morning air at five or six o’clock. I went in with him once, but the water was too cold for me!”

The farm became their sanctuary, a place where politics took a backseat, and they could simply be friends.

Bastos also narrated how Nujoma had one day requested a snack he had once eaten on one of his trips to Spain but did not remember the correct pronunciation.

“Instead of saying ‘cocochas,’ a popular delicacy of fish cheeks or throats from Spain, he asked for cockroaches, and we all burst out into laughter. We then offered him this dish every time he visited because he was very fond of it.

“Another delicacy I introduced to him was fish heads. I remember him telling me he could not be seen in public eating with his hands; because that is how I would eat them. Not too long after that, we were around the table with different heads of state, eating fish heads with our hands,” he chuckled.

The two would also go for walks in the mornings, sometimes fly over the desert in a helicopter, and talk about everything under the sun.

It was during one of those visits that Nujoma said something that stayed with Bastos forever.

“He stopped me one day and said, ‘No, Mr. Bastos, you and I are not just friends. We are brothers.’ That was the first time he called me his brother.”

Their friendship continued throughout the years, surviving the trials of Namibia’s liberation and culminating in a momentous event, the reintegration of Walvis Bay back into Namibia. True to his word, Nujoma made a promise to Bastos that he kept without fail.

“He told me, ‘On the day of the reintegration, I will come to your house.’ And he did,” he expressed.

Bastos remembers that night clearly.

“I asked him how many people he was bringing, and he said about 12. But in the end, 18 people showed up. It was a night to remember; state presidents, prime ministers, and our own leaders all gathered in my home.”

Among the guests were Zimbabwe’s Robert Mugabe, Ghana’s Jerry Rawlings, Prime Minister Hage Geingob, and Nujoma himself.
“We had a feast,” Bastos recalls. “We laid out tables, cooked fish, and enjoyed each other’s company. It was a night that should be commemorated forever.”

Despite his status, Nujoma never distanced himself from Bastos and his family. He frequently visited, sometimes without formalities, just to enjoy the company of his old friend, with whom he thoroughly enjoyed hunting expeditions.

“He was a very good shooter; me not very much, but we once shot a leopard on my farm, even when his eyesight began to fail, he never lost his love for it.”

Bastos also shared that Nujoma was not a heavy drinker, but he would have one or two glasses of white wine as he believed it was good for his health. His daughter even encouraged it.

“But it was not just the wine that brought him back; it was the food. He loved my wife’s cooking, especially the fish. Whenever we invited him for a meal, he never said no,” he narrated.

The warmth of their friendship extended beyond meals and conversations.

Nujoma often expressed his desire to do something for Bastos, but the latter never asked for anything in return.

“He told me, ‘One day, I will do something for you.’ But I always said, ‘No, Mr President, I have everything I need.’ Our friendship was never about favours or politics; it was about respect and companionship.”

As Bastos reflected on their shared years, he spoke of Nujoma’s unwavering generosity and humility.

“He never forgot a face,” he said. “Fifteen years after meeting someone, he would still remember them, their name, and even small details about their conversation.”

Nujoma’s generosity was not limited to individuals; he also extended it to communities.

“He was involved in many charitable efforts, from visiting clinics to donating ambulances. He believed in helping wherever he could.”

Their adventures together were numerous and sometimes, unexpected.

“Once, he invited me on a helicopter ride to visit his mother’s house. He made sure I was comfortable, gave me soap, and arranged a good place for me to stay. He always made people feel welcome.”

Now in his twilight years, Bastos finds it harder to travel, and the absence of his dear friend is felt deeply.

“I am 89 now,” he said with a sigh. “My wife recently had an operation, and moving around is not as easy as it used to be.”
He also remembered the deep pride Nujoma had for Namibia.

“He was proud of this country, of its independence, of its people. He used to say, ‘Namibia is my heart.’ And that was true.”
The last time Bastos saw Nujoma, there was an unspoken understanding that it might be their final meeting.

“He was getting old, and he spoke a lot about his battles and the struggles he had faced. But he remained the same; honest, humble, and full of wisdom.”

Now, Bastos speaks of his late friend with reverence.

“He was a man of principle, a man of his word. Namibia lost a great leader, but I lost a brother. He deserves peace,” he said softly. “He was a gentleman, a leader, and most importantly, a true friend.”