Unnatural Behaviour

Unnatural Behaviour

‘Grandpa,’ said Khoza, ‘Every day I am reading about unnatural behaviour on facebook. What are they talking about?’

‘What seems natural to one person may seem quite unnatural to another.’ I laughed. ‘So some people are naturally becoming quite unnaturally excited about it.’

‘All this confusion between natural and unnatural, when did it start?’

‘It didn’t start on facebook,’ I said, ‘It all started about two hundred years ago, when the first white man arrived in the ancient kingdom of Zambeziland, having crossed the Zambezi in a steamboat. The local people fled when they saw his white skin, thinking he must be a ghost.’

‘They thought he was unnatural?’

‘Of course. To them he was very unnatural.’

‘What was his name?’

‘The people called him Living Stone, meaning part living but part stone. On the one hand he could walk and talk. But on the other hand he couldn’t sing or dance, and he refused to take a wife, even when the paramount chief offered him a beautiful girl who was almost a virgin. This behaviour was unnatural, and also very rude. Even more peculiar and unnatural, his body was almost entirely covered with layers of black cloth.’

‘Was he just passing through?’ Khoza asked, ‘Or had he come to stay?’

‘That was the problem,’ I said grimly. ‘He decided to stay.’

‘Why?’

‘His reason was very strange.’

‘Unnatural?’

‘You could say so,’ I admitted. ‘You see, whereas the people of Zambeziland regarded Stone as unnatural, he equally regarded them as unnatural. Where he came from, in faraway Northland, it was unnatural to walk around naked.’

‘I should have thought,’ laughed Khoza, ‘that being naked is more natural.’

‘The Stone,’ I explained, ‘was a man of limited experience. He thought that everything found in his country was natural, and everything different was unnatural. So he decided that he would make all the people dress properly and change their unnatural behaviour.’

‘Unnatural behaviour?’

‘Yes. Poor old Stone couldn’t stand all their suggestive dancing and joyful copulation. Whereas the people of  Zambeziland were following their own customs, according to the wisdom of the elders and the guidance of the ancestors, poor old Stone couldn’t understand any of that. In his native Northland people only took off their clothes on special occasions, in the dark, and after having been given permission by a priest. Living Stone was so inexperienced that he blushed if he ever accidently saw his own genitals.’

‘And yet he considered himself wiser than all the elders in Zambeziland?’

‘His conceit was rather peculiar, because he himself didn’t actually know anything. All this knowledge was in his big black bible book. Every time he was asked a question he would look in his black book for the answer.’

‘And did he always find the answer?’

‘The answer always began with the same three words, Thou Shalt Not!’

‘So did they chase away this man who was trying to make their lives a misery?’

‘On the contrary, they were very impressed with the very unnatural technology of his steamboat and his murderous gun, and that they wanted to learn from him.’

‘I suppose that was only natural.’

‘Soon Stone had brought thousands of his fellow priests from Northland to show the people of  Zambeziland how to behave like Stones. Within fifty years Zambeziland had become a province of Northland, and had all the people had become Stones. They covered themselves with heavy suits and dresses, despite being very uncomfortable in the hot weather. They painted their faced white and only had sex with the permission of a priest. All previous forms of sex, especially the most enjoyable, were declared illegal.’

‘How terrible,’ said Khoza.

‘Many years passed, and they had mostly forgotten their earlier customs, or otherwise regarded their own grandparents as savages.’

‘How unnatural,’ said Khoza.

‘They had become more like Northlanders than the Northlanders themselves. Then finally the day came when the Paramount Chief of Northland made an official announcement, saying Now that you people of the far province of Northland have painted your faces white and learnt from the black book, and covered your bottoms decently, I hereby, with this royal command, declare you to be the independent Republic of Zambeziland.’

‘But it was too late to recover the joyful culture of Zambeziland?’ suggested Khoza.

‘I’m afraid you’re right,’ I said sadly. ‘The people had all turned to Stone. They had even put up a stone statue of  Living Stone, and worshipped it with dead prayers and dead songs, thinking him to be their new God.’

‘So is that the end of the story?’ asked Khoza.

‘The end is even more terrible,’ I replied. ‘Another fifty years passed, during which time the strange white people of Northland had dropped their belief in the black book, took off their clothes, and had begun to enjoy themselves. They changed from Living Stones to Living People. Then one day the new Paramount Chief of Northland arrived in Zambeziland for an official visit. His name was Bum Ki-Moon.’

‘Meaning?’

‘Naked Bottom. Because he never wore any trousers. And when the people saw his nakedness they chased him back into his aeroplane shouting  at him You can’t come here dressed like that! It is against our tradition! It is abominable! It is unnatural!’

‘Northland had become Zambeziland,’ said Khoza, ‘but Zambeziland had become Northland!’

‘Exactly!’ I said. ‘No such thing had ever happened before in the entire history of the world!’

‘It was unnatural!’ exclaimed Khoza.

‘I’m not sure,’ I replied. ‘Each side learnt from the other. Perhaps it was only natural.’  

The Cobra Spits

The Cobra Spits

‘Grandpa,’ said Nawiti, ‘can you tell me one of your Mfuwe stories?’

‘All my grandchildren seem to like my Mfuwe stories,’ I laughed. ‘And so, for you tonight, I shall tell you a completely new story, called The Cobra Spits.’

‘How does the story begin?’ asked Nawiti.

‘It begins,’ I said, ‘with all the animals of Mfuwe being very unhappy, because the Old Dinosaur, King Nyamasoya, had given permission to the Eager Beavers from China to come into the beautiful land of Mfuwe. These Eager Beavers were cutting down the all the mukwa trees and floating them down the Luangwa River for export to China.’

‘So the animals were getting rich, selling all those trees.’

‘No, the Eager Beavers were stealing the trees. And the monkeys were paid only a few peanuts to strip the branches, and the elephants were paid only a few bananas to drag the trunks all the way to the river. Every year the animals were more hungry and the forest was disappearing.’

‘But why didn’t the animals go to the Palace and complain to the king?’

‘King Nyamasoya listened to nobody, and if anybody complained he would set his hyenas on them. He was only afraid of the Spitting Cobra, who could frighten the hyenas. Several times the Cobra had climbed up the thick scales of the aged Dinosaur and spat in his face.

‘Now there was so much dissatisfaction with the old Dinosaur that the Spitting Cobra saw his chance. He went to the elephants and said Make me King and I’ll get rid of Old Nyamasoya and all his Eager Beavers.

‘But the Wise Old Elephant said What else are you doing to do for us? You must give the forest to us Elephants so that all the fruit is ours! So Spitting Cobra agreed. Then he went to the Monkeys and asked them what they wanted. We want all of the forest, so we can eat all the fruit! they demanded. And again the Cobra agreed.’

‘Oh dear,’ said Nawiti, ‘how could he promise the forest to both the Elephants and the Monkeys?’

‘He was a politician,’ I explained, ‘and he wanted their support. He promised the Zebra that he would banish the Lions, but he promised the Lions that he would put a fence round the Zebra so that they would be easy to catch. He promised the Rhinoceroses that all of his ministers would be appointed from amongst their number, and then went off to the Hippopotamuses and promised exactly the same thing.’

‘And so he became King?’

‘Of course,’ I laughed. ‘All the animals surrounded the Palace and shouted Shushushu! and Nyamasoya's hyenas ran away. Then the Cobra went in and climbed up the shivering Dinosaur and spat in his eyes, blinding him completely. The Dinosaur ran away to Jurassic Park and was never seen again. And so the Cobra became King, and all the animals celebrated.’

‘And did he kick out the Eager Beavers?’

‘No. He held a great feast in their honour, and said that more Eager Beavers should come and they could chop down as many trees as they like!’

‘He did the opposite!’ squealed Nawiti. ‘Why was that?’

‘He needed the money from the export of mukwa!’

‘Of course!’ laughed Nawiti. ‘I never thought of that! They don’t teach us economics in Grade 1! But did he keep the rest of his promises?’

‘None of them,’ I laughed. ‘Because he had promised opposite things to different animals.’

‘Of course!’ laughed Nawiti, clapping her hands. ‘It all cancelled down to nothing! They don’t teach us logic in Grade 1! So now he was in a fix! What did the snake do to wriggle out of that?’

‘He said he couldn’t organize the country properly because all the animals wanted different things. He therefore announced a series of measures to change the animals so that they didn’t have opposing interests.’

‘What were his directives?’

‘He ordered the Fish to learn to fly, and the Fish Eagles to learn to swim, and new schools to be built for this purpose. Similarly the Lions should learn to eat grass and not be tempted to bite Zebra, while the Zebra would all be kept captive in the Palace garden so that they wouldn’t put lions into temptation.’

‘Did it work?’

‘Of course not. At first the animals protested, but every day came more pronouncements on his marvelous new system. One day a Lion was made Minister for Moving Zebra, and even before the animals had finished laughing there was another announcement that the river was being moved nearer the Palace for administrative convenience.’

‘Did nobody go to talk to him?’

‘Nobody can argue with a Spitting Cobra. It just spits in your face.’

‘So did the King manage to move the river?’

‘Of course not. Every day the King stood in his Palace and gave more strange directives. And every day the animals ignored him, and went about their normal business.’

‘So things remained the same as under King Nyamasoya?’

‘Of course.’

‘So how did it all end?’

‘It all ended when the forest had all been chopped down, the Eager Beavers had all swum back to China, and all the animals of Mfuwe were starving.’

‘So what did King Cobra do then?’

‘He ordered that all the animals of Mfuwe should move to Tongaland, and that all the animals of Tongaland should move to Chibombo.’

‘And did it work?’

‘Of course not,’ I laughed.

‘Why not?’ asked Nawiti.

‘Because he hadn’t bothered to consult the animals of Tongaland.’

‘Oh dear,’ said Nawiti sadly. ‘Even in Grade 1, we learn to consult.’

Gabon Fever!

Gabon Fever!

I was sitting in the waiting room when I heard the doctor call my name. I slung my Chipolopolo scarf around my neck, wrapped myself in the national flag, picked up my vuvuzela, and marched unsteadily in the direction of the doctor’s surgery.

Dr Rawat was waiting for me at the door. ‘Come in, Kalaki,’ she said, as I stumbled into the room and fell laughing into a chair. Rawat sat down and looked at me so seriously that I couldn’t stop laughing.

But finally I managed to get control of myself and stood up straight. Then I slowly lifted my vuvuzela to my lips and gave her a good blast in her right ear. ‘Ha ha!’ I shouted, as I swung my scarf around my head, ‘We won!’

‘Kalaki,’ she said, ‘you look terrible!’

I leant towards her and put my finger to my lips. ‘Don’t kubeba!’ I whispered.

‘Go and lie down on the bed,’ she said sternly.

‘Oh doctor,’ I said, putting my arm around her shoulder, ‘I didn’t know you cared!’

‘I do care for you, Kalaki,’ she said kindly, ‘it’s my job. But I only wish I could get some help from you.’

‘You’re the one that’s being paid to do it,’ I laughed, ‘I’ve got my own problems.’

She held me down on the bed while she examined me. ‘Your pulse is 150, your temperature is 40.3, your blood pressure is 240 over 140 and your eyes are very bloodshot!’

‘Be Jesus!’ I exclaimed. ‘Am I dead already? And it’s only yesterday I was as fit as a fiddle, or possibly two fiddles! Tell me doctor, give it to me straight! I’m a brave man when I’ve got the spirit in me! Shall I live to see the World Cup? Or shall I fall victim to a prophesy from TB  Joshua?’

‘You’re suffering from Gabon Fever,’ she declared solemnly. ‘It’s all over!’

‘All over!’ I gasped. ‘The final curtain?’

‘No, Kalaki,’ she laughed, ‘I meant it’s all over everywhere?’

‘What?’ I said, pulling up my trouser leg, ‘am I coming out in a rash?’

‘I mean Gabon Fever has spread all over Zambia!’ she laughed. ‘Come back and sit in the chair, and I’ll give you some medicine.’ She leant back to the shelf behind her and took down a little bottle of red pills. ‘You take two of these three times a day, and you should be alright by the end of the week.’

‘God bless you doctor,’ I said. ‘If only I’d brought my sainted mother to see you, she’d still be with us today.’

‘But no alcohol while you’re taking the pills,’ said Dr Rawat, smiling sweetly.

‘What!’ I shouted, leaning over and catching her by her stethoscope, ‘You silly old bat! I’ve told you never to give me pills that can’t be washed down with alcohol! You can stick your pills up your vuvuzela!’

‘Calm yourself, Kalaki,’ she said as she deftly disengaged herself, ‘It’s one of the symptoms of Gabon Fever. Lack of respect for authority!’

‘What d’you  mean, you cheeky little quack! I’ve never had any respect for authority!’

‘That’s why there was such chaos when the team arrived,’ explained Rawat. ‘Gabon Fever! The fans were on the runway, up the control tower, everywhere! The police couldn’t do anything!’

‘Ha ha,’ I cackled, ‘What can they do! All they know is tear gas and guns! If they do anything they just cause a riot!’

‘Driven by Gabon Fever,’ continued the doctor, ‘the fans ignored the police, ignored all the rules of the road and ignored all the government ministers!’

‘Ha ha,’ I shouted, jumping onto my seat and blowing my vuvuzela. ‘See how Dotty Scotty was left opening and closing his mouth like a fish out of water! See how we declared a public holiday for ourselves and left the schools and factories empty!’

‘Get down now Kalaki. I’ve got other patients waiting.’

‘See how the government tried to take the credit, when all they had done was to try to sack the coach!’

‘Please, Kalaki, just swallow two of these pills!’

‘Let them show us the Gabon Disaster Report, then we shall see how the government can help football!’

‘Please, Kalaki, this is a non-political hospital!’

But I blew my vuvuzela in her face. ‘See how the bogus bishops tried to take the credit, saying their prayers had been answered! Saying God had favoured us! But we blew our vuvuzelas in their faces, and instead thanked our boys for their determination and skill!’

‘Kalaki, get down from this chair!’

Down I jumped, off the chair and into the corridor, blowing my vuvuzela as hard as I could.

When I opened my eyes I found myself surrounded by a bile-green plastic curtain. Sara was sitting at the side of my bed. She put her hand on my forehead. ‘You’ve come round at last,’ she said, ‘you’ve had a bad attack of Gabon Fever.’

‘What happened?’ I asked.

‘When you blew your vuvuzela, your eyes popped clean out of their sockets.’

‘Nonsense,’ I said, ‘I was just scoring two penalties.’

‘The other patients were so frightened,’ said Sara, ‘that they all ran away. One fellow who hadn’t walked for years jumped out of his wheelchair and ran straight out through the gate!’

‘That wasn’t my fault! They were just going to join the celebrations!’

‘You infected them with Gabon Fever!’

‘Did I?’

‘You did.’

‘Oh Good!’    

Reshuffled

Reshuffled

‘Turn on the news,’ said Sara, ‘I can’t wait to hear the latest on Constable Chilufya’s reshuffles!’

As I turned on the TV, there he sat, in yet another new suit, unsmiling behind the huge arrangements of flowers.’

‘Following my reshuffles of last night,’ began the Constable, ‘I have had complaints from Southern Province that I should not have put Chirundu as part of Lusaka Province, nor moved Itezhi Tezhi to Central Province. Since this is a listening government, I have now moved Chirundu District from Lusaka to Eastern Province, and I have picked up Itezhi Tezhi from Central Province and dropped it into Western Province.

‘In line with the Provincial Fiasco policy of decentralization, and in conformity with my usual practice of wide consultation, I have asked each of my provincial ministers to suggest which of the Southern Province districts they would like to be moved to their province.’

‘In my opinion,’ said Sara, ‘a tourist attraction like Mosi-o-Tunya should be moved to Lusaka.’

‘And what’s more,’ I said, ‘It could solve the water shortage in Ng’ombe.’

‘This decentralization policy,’ declared the Constable gravely, ‘is also affecting local government. As part of this new policy of devolving power to the people I have instructed the Minister of Local Government to instruct the Mayor of Lusaka to instruct his councilors that, with immediate effect, I have moved Kabulonga to Kaunda Square, Kaunda Square to Rhodes Park, and Rhodes Park to Kabulonga.’

‘The Constable has just moved to a bigger house,’ said Sara.

‘With immediate effect,’ I laughed.

‘And now,’ said the Constable, ‘I come to some of the wider consequences of my decentralization policy which also touch on our policy of abolishing school fees.’

‘Ah ha!’ said Sara. ‘Now this is something! I never thought he’d do it!’

‘Since we have a large surplus of educated young people,’ declared the Great Leader, ‘we are not only abolishing school fees, but also abolishing schools. With immediate effect.’

‘How is this decentralization?’ I wondered.

‘Just wait for it,’ laughed Sara.

‘Education will no longer be centralized in schools. Instead young people will be given an opportunity to decentralize their education by individually seeking entrepreneurial and other life-changing experiences. All school buildings will be turned into prisons for members of the previous government.’

‘Instead of providing boring punishment for children,’ said Sara, ‘schools can now do the same job for adults.’

‘In order to keep the former Minister of Education employed,’ continued the Constable, ‘I have instead given him the portfolios of Netball, Artwork, Gender and Other Entertainments.’

‘I wonder if he consulted the women about that,’ said Sara.

‘And now,’ declared the Constable, ‘I come to the more central aspects of my decentralization policy. I have decided that we cannot have our centre of government in a central capital city which is centralized at the centre, because this contradicts our policy of decentralization. Therefore, with immediate effect, I am moving the capital to Mpika. Plans have already been laid for building this new capital, which will be completed in only two months, starting in March and finishing in December.’

‘March to December!’ squealed Sara, clapping her hands. ‘That’s nine months!

‘I think you missed the news on Monday,’ I laughed, ‘when he reshuffled the months.’

‘This building of a new capital,’ continued the Constable remorselessly, ‘is also in conformity with our election promise to increase employment in the country. A tender has already been awarded to Fling Up Company Ltd of Shanghai, which has already been awarded an extra 500,000 visas and work permits.’

‘What!’ shouted Sara. ‘What about jobs for Zambians?’

‘Of course,’ declared the Constable, ‘this building of a new capital city will not only boost our economy, but will put new strains on the labour market. Therefore I have decided to reshuffle the Labour portfolio…’

‘Again!’ shouted Sara. ‘It was reshuffled only last week!’

‘I have been very disappointed with the work of Feckless Shamika. Within the past ten days I have twice appointed him to the Labour portfolio, but each time he has failed to reach his office…’

‘He has been reshuffled to so many portfolios in the past two weeks,’ said Sara, ‘and the poor fellow can’t walk very fast because he’s very old and confused. No sooner had he shuffled off in the direction of one office than somebody told him that he had been reshuffled, and he would then have to shuffle off in the direction of another office. He never managed to reach any of them.’

‘… Therefore,' said the Constable, 'I am now appointing the former Chinese Ambassador, Comrade Wok Fo Less, as the new Minister of Labour.  I have the greatest respect for the work of Comrade Wok, who served as my very able advisor during the very public nervous breakdown of a former Minister of Labour,  Mr Chipembele Kamwilimwili.

‘While I am away working at the New State House in Mpika, Comrade Wok Fo Less will be working at the Old State House to supervise the immigration of all the Chinese bricklayers and labourers and their relatives who …’

‘Comrade Wok Fo Less is in charge at State House!’ shouted Sara angrily. ‘What sort of decentralization  is this?’

‘Chinese decentralization,’ I replied. ‘A very successful policy. We have just been made a province of China.’

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[Kalaki's thanks go to his friends who contributed to the Facebook discussion on reshuffles, and especially to those whose ideas he pinched]