A New Husband for MMD

A New Husband for MMD

     ‘The hour has come,’ declared the Chairman, as the crowd cheered and gave the one finger salute. ‘We are here at the Rock of Authority to choose a new husband for our dear Mother Mary of Democracy, fondly known to all of us as MMD.’

     ‘Hurray,’ shouted the crowd, ‘bring on the suitors!’

     ‘Let me first advise everybody on the sort of husband we are looking for,’ said the Chairman. ‘Mary of Democracy is the Mother of our Great Family who has always guided us. Unfortunately, because of our tradition, she could not be the Father of the Nation, so we have always had to elect a man as to take care or our Mother.’

     ‘And they always treated her badly!’ shouted a woman from the back.

     ‘Abash gender violence,’ shouted another.

     ‘Unfortunately,’ admitted the Chairman, ‘Our Mother has not been fortunate with her husbands. We gave her Kafupi, but she left him after he became the Master of Multi Deceit. She fell in love with the Mighty Muwelewele Democrat, but he was so good he was taken by the Lord. Then came the dreadful Monster of Muddled Depravity, who drove our poor Mother to her grave.’

     ‘So if she’s dead,’ somebody shouted, ‘why does she need a husband?’

     ‘Is there no way to escape a husband?’ cried one woman.

     ‘She is our soul and our spirit,’ explained the Chairman, ‘which lives on. Ours is a matrilineal clan, and all authority is derived from the Founder of the Clan. Any new leader must undergo ritual and symbolic marriage to our Mother who, according to our sacred tradition, founded the Clan in 1991 at the Garden Hotel in Lusaka, where she gave birth to a room full of instant leaders.’

     ‘Where are they now?’ somebody asked.

     ‘In jail,’ answered another.

     ‘Get on with it!’ shouted somebody else. ‘Where are the suitors?’

     ‘I now call upon the first suitor,’ said the Chairman, ‘to come to the microphone and tell us why he thinks he should be the new husband for our beloved MMD. I give you the first candidate, Mr Fidgit Mutanti.’

     Onto the stage climbed a stiff robot of a man, who began to speak in a continuous monotone, while jerking his arms in a strange mechanical manner, and speaking without moving his lips. ‘I am the right man for MMD because I understand economics and supply and demand and fiscal discipline and foreign investment and I have memorized all the IMF guidelines all the way from the contents page to the bibliography and …

     ‘Get him off!’ shouted the crowd, as they hurled rotten tomatoes, and the robot climbed stiffly down from the stage, never to be seen again.

     ‘I now call upon Mr Shitulene Musokelela,’ declared the Chairman, as a shifty old bald fellow slid slyly up to the microphone, his eyes looking left and right and up and down. Then he began to mumble into the microphone, saying ‘I have over a thousand bicycles at my farm which will be your reward when you vote for me…’

     ‘Rotten egg!’ shouted the crowd, as a rotten egg hit Musokelela full in the face.       ‘Bring on Mumbo Jumbo!’

      A fat greasy little fellow immediately jumped energetically onto the stage and shouted at the crowd. ‘Do you believe in God?’

     ‘Yes!’ shouted the crowd enthusiastically, ‘Hallelujah!’

     ‘Do you believe in the resurrection?’

     ‘Yes!’ they all shouted.

     ‘And life everlasting?’

     ‘For ever and ever, Amen,’ chanted the crowd.

     ‘Then why should you choose one of these dead suitors to marry a dead woman, when you have a live pastor who can resurrect our dear MMD, so we can live together as Father and Mother of the Nation!’

     ‘Hurray!’ they shouted. ‘Eternal life with Pastor Mumbo Jumbo!’

     ‘Can he really do resurrections?’ some people asked

     ‘Oh yes,’ somebody else answered. ‘He has resurrected himself six times already!’

     ‘Then let him resurrect MMD!’ everybody shouted.

     ‘By popular acclamation,’ declared the Chairman, ‘Mumbo Jumbo is the winner!’

     ‘Now I am your leader!’ shouted Mumbo Jumbo. ‘Follow me to the graveyard!’

     It was an hour later when Mumbo Jumbo stood by the broken gravestone, pointed to the letters MHSRIP and said ‘Tell me, what do these letters mean?’

     ‘May Her Soul Rest in Peace,’ chanted the crowd.

     ‘No!’ shouted Mumbo Jumbo, as he raise his arms to Heaven. ‘You must have faith! These letters mean May Her Self Resurrect in Person! And I call upon the Lord to bring her back to us right now!’

     And, sure enough, as he spoke there was a crack of thunder, and the earth in front of the gravestone began to move, and rise up. Then out of the ground rose a thin and ghostly figure, wearing a white shroud on which was written CC in large letters.’

     ‘CC!’ people asked one another. ‘What can it mean?’

     ‘Perhaps it means Christ Crucified!’ somebody suggested.

     ‘Or Christian Country,’ said another.

     ‘Perhaps it’s our new party slogan,’ shouted another. ‘Corruption Cancelled!’

     But another shouted ‘It means that the Christian Coalition has been resurrected!’

     And even as he said it, ghostly figures were beginning to rise up from all the graves, as the crowd began to panic, running helter-skelter, over the unkept mounds and broken gravestones, some shouting ‘Judgement Day!’ Others shouting ‘Witchcraft!’

     Pastor Mumbo Jumbo was left standing in the gathering gloom, surrounded only by his ghosts. ‘Yes,’ he announced with satisfaction, ‘A marriage in a graveyard. My beloved Christian Coalition is back!’

    

Judicial Tribunal

Judicial Tribunal

     The crowded court fell silent as the Judge looked sternly towards the accused standing in the dock. ‘This Tribunal has been established to look into the strange goings on in the House of Justice, which became a bawdy house where men came for lewd and perverted favours. How do you plead?’

     The woman in the dock looked up plaintively to Mr Justice Tribunal. She wore a white wig and a long black gown, and her painted face disguised her years of sin and debauchery. ‘I plead guilty, My Lord.’

     ‘Very good,’ said the Judge. ‘I’m pleased that you appreciate the way this Tribunal works. First I find you guilty, then I investigate the case to find out how you became guilty.’

     ‘My Lord, isn’t that turning justice upside down?’

     ‘Huh!’ snorted the judge, ‘You should know! You started out as Madam Justice in charge of the House of Justice, but you ended up as Madam Lustice in charge of the House of Lust. All your justices were supposed to be pure virgins, kept away from society, so that they could dispense justice fairly and objectively, removed from the demands of sinful men. But you turned them into whores in a whorehouse!'

    ‘Yes, My Lord,’ admitted Madam Lustice, as tears poured down her face, and she took out her powder case and powdered her face, trying to repair the damage to her cosmetic mask.

     ‘You were supposed to keep these beautiful judges virtuous and independent, but you turned them into the slaves of base men, crooks and politicians who were trained in the art of forcing themselves upon the innocent for their own lustful and perverted pleasures.’

     ‘You’re repeating yourself,’ snapped Madam Lustice rather testily. ‘Can we move on?’

     ‘I know this is very painful for you,’ said the judge, ‘that a woman of your previous good character and virtue should have fallen into such a filthy slough of sin and depravity. Perhaps you could enlighten this court, which has an appetite for salacious tales, on how you sank so low.’

     ‘It all began some four years ago,’ began Madame Lustice, dabbing her eyes with a silk handkerchief. I was sitting quietly in my office on a Friday afternoon when the door suddenly flew open, and in stepped the Big Man.’

     ‘A big man, or THE Big Man?’ enquired the judge, as the crowd murmured.

     ‘The Big Man,’ confirmed Madam Lustice. ‘He stepped into the room, locked the door behind him, and then went to the window and drew the curtains. As I stood up, he drew me to him, held me close, and said I want a favour from you. You scratch my back and I’ll scratch your front. Nobody refuses me.’

     ‘Why did you not try to prevent this illegal entry?’

     ‘My Lord,’ said Madam Justice, as another tear ravaged her make-up, ‘you must understand my situation. I had been kept separate from men all these years. I had heard in my courtroom what sinful men do to innocent women, but I had no personal experience. Now the Big Man had his arms around me. As he held me tight, I felt his charisma. It was pressed hard against me. Do me a favour he whispered, as he pushed his tongue in my ear. Yes, I said. Yes, yes yes I kept saying, as I felt the power of the Big Man flow into me. He had given me his power, and I had found out why he was called the Big Man.’

     ‘So was he pleased that you gave him this favour?’

     ‘That’s what surprised me,’ replied Madam Lustice. ‘He stood up and said Now I have done you this favour, I want you to do me a favour. A friend of mine is coming before your court on Monday, and I expect his case to be dismissed!’

     ‘So you did him a favour?’

     ‘That’s how it continued. Every Friday afternoon he would do me a favour, and every Monday morning I would do one for him.’

     ‘And did the other judges also lose their virginity?’

     ‘When they saw how much I was enjoying myself, they all joined in.’

     ‘And soon,’ said the judge sternly, ‘It became known as the High Jinks Court and the Supreme Ecstasy Court, with the Director for Public Prostitution writing all the judgments, and the Solicitor General soliciting for more customers.’

     ‘But then it all went wrong?’ suggested the judge.

     ‘Terribly wrong. Something we hadn’t expected. The Big Man lost his job, and the next Big Man came looking for favours. We didn’t like the look of him. We had come to love the previous Big Man and all his friends, but the new lot were too old, too fat and too ugly. We just couldn’t change partners like that. It was heartbreaking. We all refused.’

     ‘So then what happened?’

     ‘We were accused of corruption and running a whorehouse!’

     ‘Very unfair!’ said the judge. ‘I can see you are a virtuous woman after all. Therefore I have decided that the earlier judgment is overturned. I have also decided that you are now Ready for Marriage. You must come back to Malawi with me!

     As the two judges walked out of the court room arm-in-arm, somebody from the back shouted ‘They look like two men to me!’

     ‘Doesn’t matter!’ shouted another. ‘It’s quite legal in Malawi!’

Thoko Fights Corruption

        Thoko Fights Corruption

I was sitting on the veranda, studiously contemplating my third brandy of the afternoon, when round the corner swept a pair of pencil blue jeans and a clinging pink top bearing the strident message ‘SOD OFF!’

     ‘Grandpa!’ she crowed, as she bent down to give me a peremptory kiss, ‘Caught you at it! Mummy says the brandy will kill you.’

     ‘Don’t try to divert attention from your own misbehavior,’ I said sternly. ‘It’s Tuesday afternoon and you’re supposed to be in school!’

     ‘I’ve run away from Zambia National High School,’ she declared. ‘I’m now a refugee here in Kalakiland!’

     ‘You mean you decided to Sod Off!’

     ‘Exactly,’ she said. ‘I’m now Secretary of the Secret Society of Sod Off!’

     ‘Congratulations!’ I said, ‘Now go to the kitchen and get yourself a coke, and fetch me another bottle of brandy. Then I’ll grant you asylum.’

     ‘That’s corruption!’ she laughed, as she danced off to the kitchen.

     She was soon back with the two bottles. ‘So,’ I said, ‘I remember you told me about the terrible corruption at that school. Was that why you had to run away?’

     ‘Hah!’ she laughed, ‘it was certainly corrupt, but I don’t think it was any different from other schools. The headmaster was stealing the PTA funds, the boarding master was stealing the food, the prefects were renting out the dormitories, the teachers were sleeping with the Form V girls, the exam papers were on sale beforehand – you know, just the normal sort of things.’

     ‘So what had happened to the School Rules?’

     ‘Look, grandpa,’ laughed Thoko, ‘do you know the meaning of the word corruption? It means that nobody is following the rules! Or rather, there is a completely different set of rules operating.’

     ‘So you got to understand the other set of rules?’

     ‘Oh yes, I soon got to know how it worked. I became a prefect and got my own mattress, helped my friend become a food monitor so I could eat well, bought exam papers at half  price, and got a strong boyfriend to protect me from Speedy Gonzales the Biology Teacher.’

     ‘So you were learning a lot. A real preparation for life after school. What went wrong? Why did you run away?’

     'When we came back this term there was a new headmaster. He said he was going to lead the fight against corruption.’

     ‘That sounds good. Did he put things straight?’

     ‘He just caused confusion. Every morning at assembly he made new announcements. One day old teachers would be fired, and new ones appointed. Then the next day the old ones would be brought back, and the new ones fired. Then the English teacher was told to teach Physics, and the Physics teacher became the English teacher. And so it went on. On day the Chemistry Lab became the Geography Room, but the next week the Geography Room became the Library. Then the Library became the gymnasium, after he has sent all the books to poor children in Botswana. In the end we were all too confused to be corrupt.’

     ‘Perhaps that was a good thing. What was the name of the new headmaster?’

     ‘We used to call him Cycle Mata, because he was always going round in circles.’

     ‘So did he bring back the Old Original School Rules.’

     ‘No. Nobody knew what the Original Rules were, they had been thrown out years ago. And the changing staff and changing curriculum was just causing confusion.’

     ‘The pupils were getting angry.’

     ‘Of course. We were now failing our exams because we didn’t know who was selling genuine illegal papers and who was selling fake illegal papers, and even the teachers didn’t know which were the genuine papers that were supposed to be used for the exam.’

     ‘So what did Cycle Mata try to correct this confusion?’

     ‘He told us all to join a new school organisation called the PF, the Pupils’ Fantasy, and all would be well. The new PF School Secretary was Mr Splinter Kapimbe, and he was appointed to supervise the Deputy Head, poor old Dotty Scotty.’

     ‘And how did Splinter Kapimbe set about setting things straight?’

     ‘He announced that if we saw anybody doing anything corrupt, we should report the matter straight to him, quite ignoring Dotty Scotty or the prefects or the Disciplinary Council.’

     ‘And did Splinter Kapimbe explain what he meant by corrupt behaviour?’

     ‘Yes. He said that we should report any person who did not belong to the PF, or spoke against the PF, because such people were sympathetic to the old regime, were in favour of corruption and were enemies of the school.’

     ‘And what did the pupils think of this Splinter Kapimbe?’

     ‘We never saw him. Some people said he was too small to see. Others said he was a witch who was casting evil spells. Others said that the PF had taken over all the schools, and Splinter Kapimbe was the one in charge of all of them.’

     ‘And you decided to run away?’

     ‘I liked the previous system, where the system was corrupt, but we knew and understood the rules, and could organize our own corruption. But now this Splinter Kapimbe had corrupted corruption so fast that we completely lost control. He was in charge and could change the rules at any minute.’

     ‘A most unsatisfactory education,’ I admitted. ‘So what is your message to Secretary General Splinter Kapimbe?’

     ‘He should just SOD OFF!’ said Thoko. 

Judging the Judge

Judging the Judge

‘All rise,’ ordered the Clerk of Court, as in swept the Judge Mutunga, latest star of our entertaining  judiciary. ‘Today,’ intoned the Clerk, ‘we return to the case of DBZ vs Mr Red Miimba. I call upon Mr Miimba to return to the witness box.’

     ‘Mr Miimba,’ said the judge, ‘Disbursing Billions of Zillions, trading as DBZ, is suing you in your capacity as a director of Postmortem Tours. DBZ is demanding the return of the twenty billion pin which they made the mistake of lending to you. What do you have to say for yourself before I pass judgement?’

     ‘M’Lord,’ replied Miimba wearily, ‘this is well known to be a politically motivated case. As the manager of DBZ, Mr Dubious Brainless Zombie has already explained to this court that the loan was to support the Postmortem Bus Tours of Monstrous Mansions in New Kasama. These tours were organized so that ordinary citizens could see how their tax money had been squandered and misappropiated by the previous government. This was part of the Fight Against Corruption.’

     ‘Mr Miimba,’ said the judge sternly, ‘I am not interested in whether your bus tours were to New Kasama or Timbuktu. But I am interested in how you were lent twenty billion pin when you were notoriously insolvent and owed money all around town.’

     ‘M’Lord, the government backed the loan because my tours were exposing corruption.’

     ‘Hmmm,’ murmered the judge. ‘But if this corrupt loan was such an important part of the Fight Against Corruption, then why did DBZ suddenly call in the loan? Was this an unexpected sign that the Fight Against Corruption had begun to succeed?’

     ‘A new government came in,’ explained Miimba. ‘And the new government immediately started the Fight Against the Fight Against Corruption, and realized that I was now part of the Fight Against the Fight against the Fight Against Corruption. So DBZ called in the loan because they had to follow instructions from the new government.’

     ‘So DBZ brought you to court to get their money back?’

     ‘Yes, M’Lord.’

     ‘Was that really because the loan was corruptly obtained?’

     ‘Certainly not, M’Lord. That could not possibly have been the case, because the government’s new Fight Against the Fight Against Corruption was in support of corruption.’

     ‘But why didn’t you just repay the loan?’ wondered the judge.

     ‘It was a matter of principle,’ explained Miimba. ‘From the outset it was understood that this money was just a grant for our good work, and only described as a loan for accounting purposes. Therefore the demand for repayment was obviously being made in bad faith.’

     ‘I put it to you,’ said the judge, ‘that DBZ stole this money from the people, and you were stealing it from DBZ, and this was understood on both sides.’

     ‘Exactly,’ agreed Miimba. ‘I quite agree that if one thief lends money to another thief, the second thief should perhaps be open to the accusation of receiving stolen property. But I should not need to remind Your Lordship that no such charge is before this court, and you would do well to concentrate your mind on the actual matter in hand.’

     ‘It seems to me,’ retorted the judge, ‘that despite all your claims of political machinations, the simple truth of the matter is that you borrowed twenty billion pin and you should repay it. What do you say about that?’

     ‘I would warn you to be careful,’ said Miimba ominously. ‘The previous judge in this case was about to rule in my favour, and see what happened to him!’

     ‘What do you mean?’ laughed the judge. ‘Don’t you want me to rule in your favour? Anyway, I wasn’t thinking of doing so!’

     ‘You don’t seem to understand the political predicament of the judiciary, or the danger of your own position’ replied Miimba. ‘The last judge failed to understand that the government wanted a judgment against me, so when they saw that he was about to rule in my favour, he was recused.’

     ‘Nonsense,’ said Judge Mutanga, ‘a judge cannot be recused, he can only recuse himself.’

     ‘Well,’ said Miimba, ‘maybe he was infused or excused or just confused, but he certainly had to leave in a hurry. That’s why you were suddenly allocated this case.’

     ‘Oh good,’ said the judge, ‘so if I rule against you, I shall be doing the right thing!’

     ‘Don’t you understand anything?’ sneered Miimba. ‘The government has changed since then, the Fight Against Corruption has resumed, and the people in government are all my friends again. So I am just giving you a friendly warning that if you rule against me, you are putting yourself in a fix.’

     ‘Well,’ said the judge, ‘The law says that if you borrow money you should repay it. So I order you to do so.’

     Two days later the TV evening news included the following item: ‘High Court Judge Mutanga has been arrested and charged for stealing a pencil from Shoprite. ACC Spokesperson has revealed that, after the judge’s home and office were searched for twenty-four hours, investigating officers found the pencil concealed in a desk draw, and Judge Mutanga could not produce a valid receipt to justify his possession of the item suspected to have been stolen. The charge is further aggravated by the suspicion that this allegedly stolen pencil is the very one used by another judge when he was forced to recuse himself. Police bond has been refused on suspicion that the judge could easily repeat the same offence if allowed out of custody.’