A quiet revolution in cotton and thread.
With their wide and colorful long dresses, Namibia’s Herero women are somewhat reminiscent of Escaramuzas, Mexican rodeo queens who gallop majestically on horses during charrería competitions. Rather than sombreros, Herero women wear a headdress shaped like a cow horn called otjikaiva (the Herero are cattle herders), puffy sleeves, color-coordinated aprons and/or neck scarves, and voluminous calf-length dresses with petticoats. This finery incorporates sometimes up to 10 meters of cloth and layering in a desert climate. The bulbous look stems from the conservative Victorian garb of 19th-century German settlers and missionaries.
The ethnic group Herero of Namibia are instantly recognizable by the traditional dress, which is called ohorokova. It is a symbol of pride, rebellion, and a reminder of their ancestors’ oppression.
In 1904, under German colonial rule, the Herero people rebelled against years of abuse, land theft, and forced labor. What followed was one of the first genocides of the 20th century. German forces systematically killed over 60,000 Herero (as much as 70% of the population at the time) through massacres, starvation, and concentration camps in Namibia, then called German South West Africa.
Echoing the voluminous dresses worn by German women, the origins of the ohorokova are murky. Some say it was imposed, some say it was chosen, and other accounts speak of weakening an enemy’s spirit by adopting their clothes. Nevertheless, its contemporary meaning is clear. It is worn by Herero women with pride, not submission.
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Relatively speaking, Namibia is a young country, having gained independence from South Africa in 1990. It was the following year that my family moved to the capital, Windhoek, when I was a toddler. My father was on a diplomatic posting, and all my earliest memories take place in Namibia, including witnessing Herero women clad in these bold gowns that wouldn’t look out of place in a costume drama. This regal ensemble is impossible to miss and difficult to forget.
After three decades away, my sister and I recently returned to Namibia on a pilgrimage of sorts to recapture the memory fragments from yesteryear’s photo albums. Boutique travel planner Extraordinary Journeys tailored the trip with that intention and tenderness in mind, from arranging for us to visit our old house and school in Windhoek, to crisscrossing the cinematic Martian valleys and burnt-orange dunes of Sossusvlei, NambibRand Nature Reserve, and Twyfelfontein.
Phone calls with Extraordinary Journeys before the adventure weren’t about logistics but about meaning, so this built-just-for-us expedition included a stop in Swakopmund, which was the coastal location of my very first family holiday.
Swakopmund is the Africa that no one expects, with Lutheran churches, Jugendstil buildings, beer halls with bratwurst on the menu, and streets displaying German signage. It was there on a breezy palm-tree-laden sidewalk that I met Aletta, Elizabeth, and Wapee, sprightly Herero women selling handmade jewelry. Firm yet friendly in hawking their wares, they indulged my litany of questions about their fashions.
“Bigger is good, more beautiful,” Aletta told me as she lifted her dress to show the petticoats beneath. To my astonishment, I was invited to try on their clothes, and before I knew it, one lady had given me the dress off her back. The ensemble was collaborative with a belt from Aletta, otjikaiva (the cattle horn headdress) from Wapee, and Elizabeth strapping me in (a formidable feat). Once I was fully outfitted, we all broke out into song and dance, and they even taught me how to pose for a photo like a Herero woman awaiting her husband, seated with palms placed on thighs.
Men in the Herero community also have their own form of subversive apparel. On ceremonial days (such as Herero Day in August), they don military-style uniforms reminiscent of the German soldiers they once fought. Their getups may appear playful, even theatrical, and echo, mock, and reimagine those left behind or taken from fallen colonial soldiers.
But unlike the men’s regalia, which comes out at festivals and special occasions, it is the women’s garment—worn just as proudly on a Tuesday afternoon as on a wedding day—that truly reminds you that you are in Namibia, as it has become a regular form of wearable identity. In fact, for a young Herero girl, her first time wearing the ohorokova is a rite of passage. A cow is slaughtered, elders gather, and the headdress is placed gently upon her head, marking her transition to womanhood.
After Swakopmund, I had the pleasure of meeting another gathering of Herero women, this time by the Ugab River. This was while driving to Onduli Ridge, my pinch-me-please, lair-like basecamp while in Damaraland spotting desert-adapted elephants. Extraordinary Journeys were the architects of my overall Namibia experience and their on-the-ground partner, Ultimate Safaris, pulled everything off with finesse, including a guide with encyclopedic knowledge who made introductions to the Herero women, offering context, interpreting local phrases with warmth and clarity, and ensuring all local interactions were respectful.
Many travelers choose the self-drive route in Namibia, but having my itinerary thoughtfully designed gave me something a GPS never could: the time and space to meet people and hear their stories. My goal wasn’t just to go from A to B, it was to reconnect with a country I once called home. And that’s exactly what I did.
Since returning, my curiosity has only deepened. I continue to explore the history, heritage, and ongoing fight for justice of the Herero people, known in their language as the Ovaherero. In 2021, Germany formally acknowledged its role in the genocide of the Herero and Nama people and pledged $1.34 billion in reparations. Though the Herero now make up less than 6% of Namibia’s population as per the latest census, their presence is unmistakable. Across the country, you’ll see the descendants of those nearly wiped out donning the wide, long garb of their oppressors with complete ownership.
