There’s something to be said about Namibia’s roads. Anyone who has driven across our vast, open country knows the feeling, smooth tar under your wheels, horizons stretching endlessly, and barely a pothole in sight. In fact, our roads are ranked among the very best on the African continent. That’s no small feat for a nation as sparsely populated as ours. With a population of only about three million people, we have close to 49,000 kilometers of roads crisscrossing this wide land. Of those, around 6,600 kilometers are fully paved to international standards. For perspective, that’s roughly 16 meters of road for every Namibian.
This network is not just big, it’s high quality. Namibia consistently ranks at the top in Africa for road quality. The World Economic Forum once gave us a score of 5.3 out of 7, far above the continental average of 3.4. Over 90% of our roads are rated excellent. Even the gravel roads are maintained to a standard many countries envy. The value of this network is immense, estimated at around US$5.5 billion, with construction costs averaging US$600,000 per kilometer. These are numbers any country would be proud of, and we should be too.
But here’s the uncomfortable question: pride aside, are our priorities aligned with the realities of our people?
Because what good is a world-class road that runs through a village where children are still learning under trees? What’s the point of a perfectly tarred stretch of highway when the nearest clinic is ten kilometers away, and people must walk there, sometimes barefoot, under a scorching sun?
Drive through some of these areas yourself. The road glistens in the heat, an engineering marvel cutting across the bush. And yet, on its shoulder, you see children carrying buckets, mothers balancing babies on their backs, and elderly men leaning on sticks, all trudging along that road, not because they want to enjoy the drive but because they have no other choice. The road makes their journey smoother perhaps, but it doesn’t shorten it.
This paradox reminds me of a story about Emperor Haile Selassie of Ethiopia. He understood the challenge of connecting a vast country with scattered settlements. Instead of focusing only on roads, he launched Ethiopian Airlines with a vision: to make every corner of his country accessible internally by air. His priority wasn’t prestige, it was practicality. The infrastructure served the people, not the other way around. That’s a lesson we could learn from.
Roads are undeniably important. They are the arteries of commerce, the pathways of tourism, and the connectors of communities. Without roads, isolation thrives, trade suffers, and development stalls. But roads without accompanying services are like veins without blood. They look impressive, but they don’t sustain life.
Other African countries have learned to integrate infrastructure with human development. Rwanda, for example, takes a holistic approach. When they build roads into rural areas, they don’t stop there. They also ensure the roads lead to something tangible, schools, clinics, and water points. The thinking is simple: infrastructure should work hand in hand with social services. Roads should open doors to better living, not just easier driving.
South Africa, despite its massive network of over 366,000 kilometers of roads, still faces criticism for toll highways bypassing communities that lack basic facilities. Civil society has pointed out that infrastructure, no matter how advanced, means little if it leaves people behind. Namibia risks falling into the same trap if we continue to prioritize asphalt over human needs.
So, how do we fix this?
Firstly, development planning needs to be integrated. Before we pave another rural road, there should be a service-access audit. Does the settlement it serves have a school with proper classrooms? Is there a clinic within a reasonable distance? Is there clean water nearby? If the answer is no, that road project should pause until those questions are addressed.
Secondly, our ministries need to work together. The Roads Authority, the Ministry of Health, and the Ministry of Education should align their budgets and goals. A new tarred road should come with a matched investment in a school, a clinic, or at least a mobile health service. Roads should not be built in isolation, they should form part of a development package.
Thirdly, let’s be strategic with foreign aid and bilateral agreements. Too often, partner countries offer to build us a road as part of development cooperation. It’s tempting to accept without question. But we should have the courage to negotiate: “Thank you for the road, but can part of this funding also go towards building a clinic or a school along the route?” That way, the infrastructure serves the people who live beside it, not just the trucks passing through.
Fourth, we must listen to communities themselves. They know best where their needs lie. Participatory planning, actually involving the people in deciding whether they need a tarred road or a fully equipped clinic, will lead to smarter investments. Some roads could start as gravel, with plans to pave them later once the area’s basic services are in place.
Finally, we need to rethink what development looks like. Roads are symbols of progress, yes, but progress is hollow if it drives past classrooms made of corrugated iron and hospitals that exist only in name. Imagine if every new road came with a promise: at least one proper school, one functioning clinic, and safe water access within walking distance for every settlement it touches. That’s not just building roads, that’s building dignity.
Namibia’s roads are a success story, and we have every right to celebrate them. But pride should push us to ask the hard questions. Are we connecting people, or are we just connecting places? Are we building for cars, or are we building for citizens?
A beautiful road tells the world we are moving forward. Let’s make sure our people are moving with it, not just walking beside it, waiting for development to notice them. If we truly want to build a nation that works for everyone, we must pave not just the roads, but also the lives that travel on them.
