The Curse of the Chieftainess

The Curse of the Chieftainess

     The Chieftainess Serenje sat on her throne in her grand palace at the top of Serenje Hill. She was very annoyed. In all the forty years she had sat on her throne she had never been so annoyed. She was remembering the day, some ten months earlier, when a suitor had arrived at her palace, seeking the hand in marriage of her granddaughter, Princess Zambia.

      The suitor was a battered looking old fellow from the faraway village of Lusaka, dressed in the rough chimbwi skins favoured by the wheelers and dealers from down south. ‘The lobola for my beautiful unspoilt Zambia is ten billion gluda or a thousand head of cattle,’ she had told him. ‘But you come here on clapped out old donkey, with an ancient creased albino carrying your bags. I had expected you to beg for food, but instead you have the cheek to ask for the hand of my granddaughter!’

     ‘You are speaking to none other than The Honorable Mr Chimbwi of Rhodes Park,’ the old fellow had replied. ‘Do not judge a man by his appearance. I may be poor and tattered, but I am rich in ideas. I may look uneducated, but have a brand new degree which I bought only yesterday. Today I may have only this one follower,’ he said, pointing to his old servant, who was shuffling his feet uncomfortably, ‘but tomorrow I shall have thousands.’

     ‘Never mind tomorrow,’ the chieftainess had snapped, ‘where is the money today? What has your bent old chola boy got in his chola? Show me the money and we can start talking.’

     ‘Donchi kubeba,’ the crafty old Chimbwi had whispered, ‘at the moment we have nothing except empty brown envelopes.’ Then he looked around and put his finger to his lips, ‘I am the Managing Director of an organisation called Donchi Kubeba, and we have a plan to fill all these brown envelopes with billions of gluda!’

     Now the old chieftainess was getting interested, because nobody had come forward with a good price for Princess Zambia, who was still rather unsophisticated and undeveloped, despite her beautiful unspoilt hills and valleys. She put her head close to old Chimbwi and whispered ‘What’s the plan?’

     ‘The plan,’ Chimbwi had whispered, ‘is that once beautiful Zambia loves me then everybody will love me. Once I have married Princess Zambia then I shall become King Zambia and my Donchi Kubeba business will prosper. All the donors will give me money, and everyone will have more money in their pockets! Especially you, my dear, when I pay the lobola.’

     Despite his bad breath, the chieftainess had really believed him.

     Nine months had now passed since the marriage, but Chimbwi had never returned. The Chieftainess was sitting on her throne, still awaiting the king. Finally her Chief Induna arrived, saying ‘O Great Chieftainess, the Great Bag of Maize has arrived.’

     As he spoke, a great flabby hippopotamus of a man wobbled into the room, attempted unsuccessfully to bow, and then sat down heavily at the other end of the room.

     ‘I had expected Chimbwi,’ said the Chieftainess.

     ‘His Excellency King Chimbwi is far too busy at the moment,’ declared the Great Bag. ‘He is away visiting the Queen of England, so he has sent me here with a message.’

     ‘He is supposed to be here,’ said the chieftainess, ‘to answer my demand for the payment of lobola, otherwise I shall dissolve his marriage to the Princess Zambia.’

     ‘In this kingdom,’ declared the Great Bag, ‘you should be advised that the king has the authority to revoke the appointment of any mere chief.’

     ‘You should be advised,’ answered the chieftainess angrily, ‘that in my chiefdom Chimbwi is my subject, and he has not paid us the lobola. As a result we are starving here in Serenje, while you have become so fat you can hardly walk!’

     ‘It is because of such talk that the king has sent me here to warn you,’ declared the insolent Great Bag, ‘that he has information that you have been speaking against him, which is a treasonable offence!’ 

     ‘I advise the king to keep his promises, and then people won’t speak against him. He promised us a new palace, more money in our pockets and jobs for all. We have seen nothing, not a single ngwee. Therefore I declare that the love of Zambia for the king is hereby withdrawn. The love affair is over. The marriage is dissolved. You should not say one single word more, but instead return to Lusaka and inform your king of my decision!’

     ‘The king has decided…’

     ‘Not one more word!’

     ‘I have to tell you…’

     ‘If you say one more word!,’ warned the chieftainess, as she stood up from throne, her black fly whisk waving, ‘I shall put a curse upon you.’

     ‘I have to warn you that…’

     ‘Your ancestors have now put a curse upon you,’ declared the chieftainess. ‘Your belly will grow and your manhood will shrink until you are the laughing stock of the nation.’ And even as she spoke, his great belly began to swell to even more disgusting proportions.

     ‘I shall report this to…’ continued the Great Bag.

     ‘You are cursed again,’ declared the chieftainess, now shaking with rage, ‘When next you break wind you will poison yourself and turn to stone!’

_________________

     And even to this day, on the top of Serenje Hill, there is a huge round stone known locally as the Great Bag of Maize. Legend has it that, at election time, the Great Bag of Maize emits evil yellow clouds of poisonous gas.

Chimbwi No Plan

Chimbwi No Plan

     ‘Grandpa,’ said Nawiti, ‘tell me a story and then I’ll go to sleep.’

     ‘All the animals of Mfuwe,’ I began, ‘were gathered around in a big circle. It was the day of the Big Trial, where the Great Elephant sat as judge, and Chief Ha Ha stood accused of referring to the Great Leader as Chimbwi No Plan.’

     ‘Huh,’ said Nawiti, ‘that doesn’t sound like a terrible insult to me!’

     ‘You have to understand the politics of the animals in the game park,’ I explained.

     ‘When my friends the Tellytubbies go into the forest,’ said Nawiti, ‘they find all the animals are very sweet and friendly, and they kiss them all. Even the lions wouldn’t hurt a fly.’

     ‘It’s very different in Mfuwe,’ I explained patiently, ‘where all the animals are political animals, and very dangerous. Even a fly can lay eggs in your skin and make you go rotten all over.’

     ‘Even so,’ wondered Nawiti, ‘what was so terrible about calling him Chimbwi No Plan?’

     ‘Because Chimbwi had come to Mfuwe as the Saviour of the Nation. Before that, all the animals had been oppressed by the Movement of Mad Dinosaurs, who had brought in the Ching Chang pandas to steal all the bamboo and export it to Chang Ching. They had destroyed the forest, employed the monkeys as slaves, and reduced the animals to starvation.’

     ‘But then came the Great Leader?’

     ‘One evening, as the animals were gathered on the banks of the Great Luangwa, they saw a Great Pabwato coming from afar. As the boat came closer they saw a large hyena, who stepped out of the boat and walked on the water …’

     ‘Am I supposed to believe this story?’ asked Nawiti.

     ‘All this happened in the days of Christianity,’ I explained, ‘when people easily believed in miracles. ‘As the hyena walked majestically amongst them he declared I am King Chimbwi, sent by God to save you. I am Leader of a new party called the Plan Forward, and I have a great plan to move forward. We shall chase the Dinosaurs back to Jurassic Park. We shall chase the Ching Chang back to Chang Ching, and we shall be happy and rich forever and ever.’

     ‘Now I’m beginning to see,’ said Nawiti, ‘that calling him Chimbwi No Plan could be rather dangerous.’

     ‘Yes,’ I said. ‘Especially when talking to hyenas. So perhaps we can now return to the court?’

     ‘I’m already there,’ said Nawiti.

     ‘The Great Elephant,’ I continued, ‘now addressed the prisoner, saying Chief HaHa of the Up and Down Party…’

     ‘The Up and Down Party?’ laughed Nawiti.

     ‘Yes,’ I said irritably. ‘HaHa was leader of the monkeys. They were very good at running up and down trees, but they couldn’t make much progress on the ground. So, as I was saying, the Great Elephant said You are charged that, on a date unknown, at a place unknown, in the presence of witnesses unknown, you were heard to say Chimbwe No Plan. How do you plead?’

     ‘Not guilty My Lord. And who is the complainant in this case? Has King Chimbwi complained that he has lost his plan?’

     ‘Er, no,’ admitted the judge. ‘Perhaps we had better ask him!’

     ‘Has Chimbwi complained that anybody stole his plan?’ persisted HaHa.

     ‘Er, um, no, I don’t think so,’ said the judge, looking bewildered.

     ‘Do we have any evidence that Chimbwi ever had a plan?’ wondered HaHa.

     ‘Um, ah, I was assuming that he must have had one,’ replied the judge.

     But as the Great Elephant spoke, a pack of hyenas began to gather around his legs, growling and baring their teeth.

     ‘Oh dear,’ said Nawiti, ‘were they threatening the judge?’

     ‘The hyenas had eaten the previous judge,’ I explained. ‘Being a judge in the jungle is a very dangerous occupation.’

     ‘Well,’ said the judge, now beginning to shake, ‘perhaps you are guilty of defamation!’

     ‘Defamation, My Lord?’ wondered HaHa. ‘I can see that it might be defamatory to call somebody a murderer or a prostitute, or even an adulterer, because such accusations might ruin the reputation of a person previously seen as respectable. But is it damaging to somebody’s reputation to say that they haven’t got a plan? Surely, My Lord, most of us do not have a plan. To say that somebody does not have a plan is about as defamatory as saying that they do not have an umbrella!’

     But now the hyenas were beginning to snap at the judge. One had hold of his tail, and two more were jumping up, trying to reach his testicles.

    ‘Ah, ah, eeeh,’ squealed the elephant, ‘Just one more question, Chief HaHa. Do you yourself have any plan on how to govern Mfuwe?’

     But the hyenas didn’t like this question either, as one alpha male managed a high leap and tore a piece off the elephants ear, as all the other hyenas laughed and cheered.

     ‘Certainly I have a plan!’ boasted HaHa. ‘You see, Chimbwi made promises but he has no plan on how to fulfill these promises. What he needs to do now is to clear away the bamboo, plant maize and sweet potatoes, employ all the monkeys in cultivation, use labour intensive methods, export our crop to…

     ‘Ha Ha Chief HaHa!’ squealed the judge triumphantly. ‘Now you have revealed your guilt! How do you know all these things? Clearly you are the one who stole the plan from our Great Leader! I sentence you to ten years for theft!’

     ‘Hurray!’ squealed all the hyenas. ‘O wise judge! O clever judge! A Solomon come to judgement!’

     ‘Grandpa!’ said Nawiti sleepily, ‘who’s taking me to school tomorrow? Mummy’s gone to Kitwe.’

     ‘Don’t worry,’ I said, ‘somebody will take you.’

     ‘Just promises,’ she said, ‘but no plan.’

   

Promises, Promises

     The problem with using mini-buses in Lusaka is that you wiz along so fast that you don’t see much of the city. And you can’t be looking out of the window because you have to watch your pocket.

     The great advantage of another fuel crisis is that you can take your bicycle and proceed at a more civilized and reflective speed, free from the attention of pickpockets. And it was when I was cycling slowly and laboriously along Mungwi Road that I was taken aback to see a sign I hadn’t seen for years – Government Stores. And freshly painted underneath it said Open for Business - Under New Management.

     I climbed the concrete steps, and pushed at the peeling green paint of a large ancient door. As my eyes adjusted to the gloom I gradually managed to focus on something even more ancient, sitting at a rickety colonial desk. ‘Good Morning,’ I said. ‘I’m Spectator Kalaki.’

     A scarred and sinister figure in a crumpled suit rose to shake my hand. ‘I’m Axe Chikwale, Financial Controller of Government Stores. What can I do for you?’

     ‘If you don't mind, I just came to have a look,’ I said, as I shook his withered hand. ‘I thought this place died completely with the death of the one party state!’

     ‘The new government has decided to bring it back into operation, ' he replied. 'You see, the free market is far from perfect at distributing goods and services, so we thought it was necessary to impose a bit of government intervention in procurement, supply, distribution , subsidy, and that sort of thing.’

     ‘What were the problems of the free market?’

     ‘It tends to work to the advantage of the rich, overlooking the interests of the poor. So this government got into power by promising to supply more jobs, lower prices, loans for small businesses, steady supply of electricity and fuel, more money in your pocket – all to be done within ninety days!’

     I looked around at the empty shelves. ‘But you’ve had nine months!’ I exclaimed, ‘and I don’t see much progress!’

     ‘Well,’ he spluttered, ‘Rome wasn’t built in ninety days. We’ve ordered everything, but of course it takes time for goods to be delivered, and to put systems in place.’

     ‘Has there been some administrative muddle?’ I wondered.

     ‘There was a bit of delay because of the shuffling of ministries, followed by the shuffling of ministers, causing some ministers to get lost. For example the Ministry of Sport has been attached to three different ministries, and the present minister is still looking for his office.’

     ‘So where is he to be found?’

     ‘I’ve no idea. He just moves from one football match to another.’

     ‘So can you show me around the store?’

     ‘Certainly,’ said the old fellow, as he slowly rose to his feet, desperately trying to breathe life into his crumpled corpse, as he shuffled off towards a group of empty desks. ‘This,’ he said, waving his hand grandly at nothing, ‘is where we sell electricity units at very reasonable prices.’

     ‘But there’s nobody here,’ I laughed.

     ‘Not at the moment,’ he conceded. ‘This happens to be the time when all residential areas are on load shedding so that we can supply free electricity to the mines.’

     ‘Of course,’ I said. ‘I overlooked that. We have to look after our investors, and ensure that all our precious wealth is safely exported.’

     Next we came to another group of empty and dusty desks. ‘This is our new Job Centre,’ he announced proudly, pointing to a pile of job application forms.

     ‘But there’s nobody here,’ I protested.

     ‘It’s a pity,’ he lamented, his ancient lungs wheezing like a death rattle. ‘But none of our job applicants can afford the two hundred pin for an application form. So in the meantime we’re having to give all the new jobs to the Chinese.’

     He shuffled along some more. ‘Here is our most important section, the Development Bank of Zambia, which provides loans for entrepreneurs.’

     ‘But there’s nobody here,’ I repeated wearily.

     ‘Unfortunately the Post Mortem Newspapers were given all the money during the election campaign.’

     ‘So can you re-capitalise the bank?’

     ‘Oh yes. Sacking all the judges should raise a few hundred billion.’

     ‘Did they do anything wrong?’ I wondered.

     ‘Very wrong,’ he sneered. ‘They’ve been acting independently of the government.’

     We now walked out into the yard behind, where hundreds of fuel pumps were surrounded by huge storage tanks. But not a fuel tanker in sight. ‘Bit of a glitch on this one,’ admitted poor old Axe Chikwale. ‘We bought a huge consignment at a bargain price, but it turned out to be coconut oil.’

     ‘From what I can see,’ I said boldly, ‘it looks like you haven’t been able to deliver on any of your promises.’

     ‘On the contrary,’ replied Axe proudly, as he tried bravely to straighten his crooked spine, ‘we’ve put more money in everybody’s pockets!’

     ‘Oh? How have you done that?’

     ‘Now that people are not wasting their money on fuel or electricity they’ve got a lot more money in their pockets. Everybody is very happy with the good progress we’ve been making.’

     Now we turned a corner and came to a gleaming new building. ‘This is the Security Supplies Section,’ said Axe, as a policeman saluted and we went inside. There we found new metal shelves packed with helmets, uniforms, AK47s, rifles, batons, handcuffs, tear gas canisters, bullet proof vests and whips. On the vast floor were parked BMWs, landcruisers and kasalangas.

     ‘Our primary responsibility,’ said Axe Chikwale sternly, as he coughed and spat blood upon the floor, ‘is to ensure that the happiness of this peaceful nation is never threatened by a small lunatic fringe of malcontents.’

But somewhere, in the distance, I heard the sound of women screaming.

   

Stripped Naked

Stripped Naked

     ‘Come in,’ said Cycle Mata wearily as the vast wobbly obese figure of Chipembele Kambilimbili waddled insolently into the room. ‘Take a seat,’ said Cycle Mata, as he sat with his elbows on the desk and his head in his hands. ‘How on earth did this happen?’

     ‘How did what happen?’

     ‘Let’s start with the bus station. I came back to Lusaka expecting everybody to be talking about my having lunch with the Queen, and all I hear is that one of my minister’s has been assaulted at the Inter-City Bus Station.’

     ‘Just one of those little incidents Your Excellency,’ sniggered Chipembele. ‘You know our cadres can be a bit boisterous when they meet their Honourable Minister of  Football.’

     ‘I’m told you were stripped naked!’ said Cycle Mata sternly.

     ‘Even me,’ admitted Chipembele, ‘I was a bit surprised, I thought they only did this to women. I think we should raise the matter in parliament, this is taking gender equality a bit too far! Now they are beginning to discriminate against us men!’

     ‘How were you dressed?’

     ‘Well, as you know, I can never find clothes big enough. Suddenly I was accosted by some nasty thugs…’

     ‘You mean our loyal party cadres to whom we have entrusted the management of our bus stations?’

     ‘Exactly, our young party stalwarts. Suddenly they started shouting things like His boobs are hanging out! He’s not wearing a bra! His trousers are too tight! Maybe he’s a fruitcake! Let’s see what he’s got inside those trousers!’

     ‘I’m told that you were stripped naked!’

     ‘They were shouting  Mufumyeni ibolo! Tuteye bola! Find his balls and we’ll play football!’

     ‘And did they find them?’

     ‘Luckily my essentials are well protected by my ample belly. Even me, I can’t find them. Haven’t seen them for years.’

     ‘But then you were rescued by the boma?’

     ‘A police car happened to come by, a bystander wrapped me in a chitenge, and I was whisked off to the police station.’

     ‘And did boma arrest anybody?’

     ‘No. But they said that if I did it again they’d arrest me for indecent exposure and inciting the callboys to commit rape. Then they slapped me around a bit and let me go. It was a terrible experience. I’m even beginning to wonder if we shouldn’t take more interest in human rights.’

     ‘This has nothing to do with human rights, you silly man!’ shouted Cycle Mata angrily. ‘Don't you realize that you brought this upon yourself!’

     ‘Did I?’ said Chipembele, genuinely baffled. ‘Where did I go wrong?’

     ‘You’re the one responsible for losing the football match in Sudan! That’s why they’re after your blood. You sent the team to a wrong country for training and then put them on a wrong aeroplane! Now everybody is blaming the government!’

     ‘I’m not in charge of the government,’ laughed Chipembele. ‘It’s you!’

     ‘And I’m in charge of you,’ growled Cycle Mata. ‘I know walisavuka ne miponto sana mwaiche, but I thought at least you’d be able to organize a game of football!’

     ‘So that's it!’ sneered Chipembele, ‘you thought that was all I was good for!’

     ‘On the contrary,’ replied Cycle Mata grimly, ‘Niiwe nachetekela mwaiche. All the other ministries were failing, and the people were getting angry. No new jobs. No money in their pockets. No windfall tax. No Barotseland agreement. No new constitution. Kwacha on the skids. Everything was going down the drain. But I knew that if we could just keep Chipolopolo winning then this would maintain public morale, and people would overlook all the other disappointments. But then you also let me down!’

     ‘Don’t panic,’ sneered Chipembele. ‘No vundu bakamba twalaka sova!’

     ‘You don’t seem to understand that iyi naizanda mwaiche,’ shouted Cycle Mata.   ‘Everything else had failed, and the only thing to hide our shame was success at football. Now the final veil had fallen, and we are left naked. When you were stripped naked at the bus station, it was the entire government that was being stripped naked! We have been shamed! Humiliated! Nothing is working! What can we do?’

     So saying, poor old baffled Cycle Mata put his head in his hands and groaned. Don’t despair,’ laughed Chipembele. ‘Umenifye ilya ine muma! Appoint a twenty person commission of inquiry to find out who leaked the information about going to the wrong country for training, and the botched travel arrangement. It was a conspiracy by the opposition to embarrass the government. Such leaks obviously contravene the Official Secrets Act and endanger the security of the nation. We must take stern action. As for me, I’m currently being troubled by unemployed relatives, so I can also help you by recommending several names for the new commission of inquiry.

     ‘Thank you very much for your advice,’ sneered Cycle Mata. ‘But the time has come for yet another reshuffle. I have decided to appoint King Kalulu as the new Minister of Sport, to be in charge of strategy and logistics. Monsieur Boom Boom will be the Deputy Minister in charge of training and tactics. And I’m appointing you as Chola Boy in charge of organizing the katundu.’

     ‘Chola Boy!’ exploded Chipembele. ‘How can a man of my reputation, vast experience and considerable weight be demoted to a mere Chola Boy?’

     ‘I’m giving you one last chance to succeed at something,’ declared Cycle Mata. ‘If you can prove yourself as a Chola Boy, then I shall consider appointing you as my next Vice-President.’

[Kalaki is pleased to acknowledge some assistance from Moses Chipepo]