A song that speaks to the soul of a nation

Hidipo Hamata

There are moments in our national life when an ordinary act inside a classroom transforms into something extraordinary for the whole country. One teacher, a woman, a mother, stood before her pupils not with a textbook in hand, but with a song that has since captured our collective imagination. Her initiative — teaching children a song to protect themselves from inappropriate touching and harassment — is more than just a creative method of education. It is a national call to conscience, a mother’s cry for protection, and a teacher’s oath to safeguard the innocence of every child entrusted to her care.

Some critics have suggested that this was an act of “content creation”, perhaps designed to go viral. To them, I say: even if it was, then let it be content of the highest and noblest kind. Let it be constructive content that saves a child’s dignity, that warns a child’s ears before the danger comes, and that reminds adults that protecting children is not just a slogan but a daily practice. In an age where social media is often filled with empty noise, here we uncover a melody that teaches, a chorus that heals, and lyrics that stand as a barrier between innocence and exploitation.

As a father and as a Namibian parent living in a country where rape, sexual harassment, and abuse have become disturbingly frequent across all age groups, I cannot ignore the gravity of this moment. We often talk about strengthening laws, building more shelters, or increasing awareness campaigns — and all of those are vital. But what this teacher has given us is a reminder that prevention can start as simply as a song in a classroom. Children learn faster when they sing. They memorise, internalise, and repeat. This song, therefore, is not just music. It is a weapon of defence; it is a shield carried in the heart of every child who sings it.

We must remember the wisdom of African mothers who have always said, “A child is not raised by one person, but by the village.” Another African proverb says, “When the roots are deep, there is no reason to fear the wind.” By equipping our children with such protective knowledge, we are deepening their roots of awareness so that when the winds of danger blow, they will stand firm, alert, and ready to protect themselves and their peers.

What is particularly touching is that the song does not only warn children against the danger of being touched wrongly by strangers, schoolmates, or even relatives. It also teaches them to refrain from becoming perpetrators themselves. That is wisdom. That is prevention. By planting the seeds of respect and sensitivity early in life, we are nurturing a generation that will hopefully grow into men and women who understand the sacredness of another person’s body and dignity.

Some may wonder if such a topic is too heavy for children. To that, I respond: would we rather have silence until it is too late? Would we rather have our children unprepared, their innocence stolen before their voices can even describe what happened? This song is not about sexualising children; it is about safeguarding them. It is about giving them the vocabulary to say “no”, the confidence to resist, and the knowledge that they are not alone.

Let us also reflect on the symbolic meaning of this act. The song was sung by a female teacher — a mother. A mother does not need to be told twice about the dangers that lurk around her children. A mother’s instinct is protection, and in this classroom we see motherly love translated into pedagogy. This was not an accident of creativity; this was the heart of motherhood expressed through music. As the saying goes, “A mother is she who can take the place of all others, but whose place no one else can take.” This teacher took that irreplaceable place and filled it with a shield of words and melody.

We live in a country where teachers are often unrecognised for the extraordinary lengths they go to. They work in under-resourced classrooms, with heavy workloads, and often very little appreciation. Yet here, we see proof that teachers are not just educators. They are guardians, counsellors, role models, and in moments like these, even heroes. This song has revealed what extraordinary goodness exists in the hearts of our educators.

This is why I strongly believe we must applaud and celebrate this initiative. Not only should the song be sung in that one school, but it must be shared across our motherland. It must become a national treasure — a melody of protection echoing in every classroom, from Omafo to Katima, from Oshakati to Lüderitz. Imagine the power of a nation of children, all united by the same song of self-protection, all aware of their rights, and all committed to respecting each other’s dignity. That is how nations change — not just through policies in Parliament, but through songs in classrooms.

If I were the circuit director of this teacher’s school, I would not hesitate for a moment. I would recognise her with an Awareness Award for Excellence. Recognition is not just about rewarding one teacher, it is about sending a message to all educators that innovative, child-centred methods are welcome and celebrated. By lifting her up, we lift the profession up. And by celebrating her, we remind the country that teachers hold the keys to shaping not only knowledge but also values and morals.

This song is more than a tune; it is a testimony. A testimony that in the fight against harassment and violence, teachers and mothers are on the frontlines, using every tool at their disposal — even music — to keep the innocence of our children intact. Let us not waste this moment by debating whether it was for content or not. Let us instead amplify the content until it becomes part of our national culture.

May we learn from this teacher, may we support her, and may we ensure that this song is not the end of the conversation but the beginning of a movement. For as Africans, we know too well: “When you educate a child, you educate a nation.” In this case, when you protect a child, you protect the future of a nation.

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