Ukwa in New York

Ukwa in New York

          The country representatives in the UN General Assembly were dozing as yet another world leader came to the end of a long rambling discourse on the rule of law, a subject he was never willing to discuss in his home country.

          But then suddenly, and most surprisingly, things began to perk up. The Chairman came to the microphone and announced ‘In order to brighten up the proceedings we shall now have a short entertainment organized by Africa’s most famous comedian! Put your hands together for the Fastest Quip in the South, the one and only Ukwa, President of Ukwaland!’

          As the audience woke up and cheered, and the auditorium lights faded, the spotlight fell upon a dapper little fellow in a white Mao Tse-Tung suit who glided onto the stage and up to the microphone, and then fixed the rows of dignitaries with a baleful eye.

          ‘What are you people doing here?’ he asked. ‘Who elected you? Nobody! You were just appointed by your governments! Unelected representatives, coming here and pretending to rule the world!’

          ‘The money’s good!’ somebody shouted.

          He pointed at a gentleman on the front row. ‘You, Mr Pinstripe Suit! What is your name? What are you doing here?’

          The pinstripe suit obligingly stood up. ‘I am Sir Alistair Corruthers Heseltine-Bowen, British Permanent Representative to the United Nations.’

          ‘Unelected Pinstripe!’ laughed Ukwa, as he put two fingers in his mouth and gave a loud whistle, whereupon a line of twenty heavily armed police came running in from the wings. ‘Search this man for property corruptly obtained from Ukwaland!’ he ordered.

          ‘A colonialist!’ laughed the crowd. ‘A plunderer in our midst!’

          ‘You see!’ announced Ukwa triumphantly, as the police handed over the personal possessions found on poor old Pinstripe. ‘One Rolex gold watch, one diamond ring, one solid silver pencil and a Mont Blanc fountain pen. Now it’s pay-back time for the British looting of Ukwaland during a hundred years of colonialism! We must follow the rule of law!’

          ‘Ha ha,’ laughed the Third Word. ‘Quite right! Follow the rule of law!’

          ‘I beg to differ,’ said Mr Pinstripe, showing more courage than is normally expected of a British diplomat. ‘According to the rule of law, there has to be a complainant.’

          ‘Ha ha,’ laughed Ukwa waving at his supporters. ‘We are the complainants. If we want to fix our enemy we just send our police to find out what they’ve done wrong, and then the police arrest him.’

          ‘Exactly,’ people laughed. ‘We all live in Ukwaland!’

          ‘Suppose they haven’t done anything wrong?’ asked Mr Pinstripe.

          ‘Everybody has done something wrong,’ laughed Ukwa, ‘and it’s the job of the police to find it. That’s what we mean by the rule of law.’

          Just then a small group of protesters walked in carrying a large banner reading We protest against the ban on protests. But as soon as they appeared Ukwa’s police pounced on them and beat them to the ground and carted them off.

          ‘What did they do wrong?’ somebody shouted.

          ‘What a silly question,’ laughed Ukwa. ‘Obviously if they are right, and there is a ban on protests, then they have to be arrested for contravening the ban.’

          ‘But if there isn’t a ban?’

          ‘Then obviously they have published false information calculated to mislead the public and cause alarm and public disorder, so they must be arrested.’

          ‘Very good,’ they all laughed. ‘The law must always rule!’

          ‘You laugh too much,’ Ukwa sneered into their laughing mouths. ‘I have now seen that you people are unelected, laugh at freedom of expression and the rule of law, and are also plunderers found with stolen property. Furthermore, I have seen that you spend all your time arguing with each other over petty matters instead of getting together to unite the world and solve our common problems.

          ‘Therefore I have no option except to exert my authority as the only elected leader in the room, and take over as President of the United Nations!’

          ‘Hurray!’ they all cheered. ‘The Great Leader we have been looking for.’

          ‘Accordingly,’ he continued, ‘I am appointing a Commission of Inquiry into the composition of the Security Council. Within ninety minutes I expect their report advising me that the Security Council should be abolished!’

          ‘Hurray!’ they laughed. ‘A man of action!’

          As he spoke a Christian Choir drifted onto the stage and began to sing I am the World…

         

There comes a time when we heed a certain call

When the world must come together as one

Our leader is saying

It’s now our time to give him power

The greatest gift of all

Then the entire cast walked slowly off the stage, to the loud applause of the audience, with Ukwa loudly singing the next verse…

I am the world, you are my children

I am the one who makes a brighter day

So I’ll start ruling

It’s a choice I’m making

I’m saving your own lives

It’s true I’ll make a better day

Just vote for me

          ‘Marvellous!’ they all cheered. ‘Encore!’

          Now the Chairman returned to the microphone. ‘Thank you Ukwa for another fantastic performance. Next on the agenda is His Excellency Dr Cycle Mata, who is going to talk about the rule of law in Zambiana.’

          As Cycle Mata came to the microphone, the American Representative, Mr Texas Ranger, leant over to Mr Pinstripe and said ‘Doesn’t this one look like the previous fellah?’

          ‘Don’t ask me,’ answered Pinstripe, ‘All these chaps look the same to me. Maybe it’s the same actor with a different script.’

Enemy of the People

Enemy of the People

            The judge leant forward towards the prosecutor. ‘What is the charge against this man?’

          ‘The first charge, M’Lord, is that he was found walking down Addis Ababa Avenue on the right hand side of the road instead of the left.’

          The judge now turned to the accused. ‘Mr Wakunguma Munukuyumbwa, how do you answer this charge?’

          ‘M’Lord, as I understand it, the law on keeping to the left applies only to motorists.’

          ‘I am much amused,’ sneered the judge, ‘that you should come to my court to advise me on the law. You have apparently overlooked that it is I, the judge, who has been employed to advise you on the law. I therefore have to advise you that it is a constitutional principle that the law applies equally to all, and that no person or category can claim to be above the law, least of all pedestrians.’

          ‘Huh,’ Sara whispered in my ear, ‘This one may be bought and paid for!’

          ‘Silence in court!’ shouted the judge. ‘Mr Wakunguma Munukuyumbwa, if that is all you have to say in your defence, I may as well find you guilty on the spot, to save this court wasting its time. Do you have anything else to say?’

          ‘Yes, M’Lord. There were twenty-five people rounded up for walking on the wrong side of the road. But when we got to Manda Hill Police Post, the inspector pointed at me and said This is the one we want! All the others can go!’

          ‘Ha ha!’ jeered the audience, ‘He’d been fingered!’

          ‘Silence!’ shouted the judge, ‘Or I’ll clear the court!’

          ‘M’Lord,’ said the prosecutor, ‘The accused is not telling the full story. The evidence shows that the accused was in fact the leader of the group, and was the very one who had misled the others to walk on the wrong side of the road without a police permit, thereby defying and challenging the legitimate authority of the state with a view to causing anarchy throughout the nation.’

          ‘Treason!’ I laughed.’

          ‘Shush!’ said Sara

          ‘Silence!’ shouted the judge.

          ‘M’Lord,’ pleaded Munukuyumbwa, ‘The inspector checked our names against a list in his file. Then he pointed at me and said This is the one we want, the rest can go!’

          Now the prosecutor was on his feet. ‘M’Lord, this evidence relates to the further charges against Munukuyumbwa, who we had finally caught after he had been on the run for a long time. We first opened a docket against him in1967 when he went straight through a speed trap without stopping. We also have photographic evidence that in 1975 he changed money on Katondo Street, contrary to the Exchange Control Act of 1954. And last year Speedway Dry Cleaners found a ten pin note in his suit, contrary to the Money Laundering Act of 1993.’

          ‘The fishermen have been fishing!’ somebody laughed.

          ‘An Enemy of the People!’ laughed another, ‘Lock him up!’

          ‘Silence!’ shouted the judge, ‘Or I’ll charge you all with contempt of court!’

          ‘And there are far more serious charges,’ said the prosecutor solemnly. ‘Munukuyumbwa is also charged with assaulting a policeman, which carries a minimum sentence of five years.’

          ‘How do you answer this charge?’ asked the judge sternly.

          ‘I hit him in the face,’ explained Munukuyumbwa, ‘because he was squeezing my essentials.’

          ‘Do you have any evidence of this?’ asked the judge.

          ‘They refused to issue a police report,’ answered Munukuyumbwa.

          ‘He’s lying again,’ cried the prosecutor triumphantly, as he waved a piece of paper in the air. ‘I have the police report right here. It shows that the constable had an unusually flat nose, clear evidence that he was hit in the face.’

          ‘Any other charges?’ asked the judge.

          ‘The next charge,’ declared the prosecutor solemnly, ‘is that Munukuyumbwa, while in the cells, did show treasonable disrespect for state property by defecating in a bucket which clearly had Republic of Zambia stamped on it.’

          ‘A clear case of sedition,’ declared the judge.

          ‘There is worse, M’Lord,’ intoned the prosecutor solemnly, as he grasped the national flag in one hand and the bible in the other. ‘We have material evidence that Munukuyumbwa did willfully disrespect and maliciously damage state property. Specifically, he took hold of a copy of the Draft Constitution that had been left in the cells, tore it into pieces, and took advantage of it in order to complete his ablutions. He has revealed himself as the Enemy of the People!’

          ‘Guilty as charged!’ declared the judge.

          ‘Malicious prosecution!’ shouted another.

          ‘The judge has torn up the constitution!’ somebody else shouted.

          But before the judge could even shout for silence, twenty policemen ran onto the stage. At the same moment the back doors of the auditorium flew open and hundreds of policemen stormed down the theatre aisles in full riot gear, guns at the ready. Then a little fellow, in a police uniform far too big for him, jumped onto the centre of the stage.

          ‘That’s Sillyman Jelly,’ laughed Sara. ‘The Chief Goon.’

          ‘This meeting is now cancelled,’ squealed little Sillyman, ‘because a permit was not granted.’

          ‘Why not?’ we all laughed.

          ‘Sillyman Jelly pointed at the three hundred police that surrounded the one hundred theatergoers. ‘Because we don’t have enough manpower!’

          ‘Ha ha!’ everybody laughed as we all stood up clapped. ‘Very good play!’ somebody shouted. ‘Very realistic!’

          ‘But it wasn’t realistic,’ I said to Sara afterwards. ‘The real thing is more ridiculous.’

          ‘Yes,’ said Sara. ‘And far more frightening.’  

               

           

King Paranoia

King Paranoia

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

          ‘Once upon a time,’ I began, ‘a long time ago in the Kingdom of Mfuwe, there ruled a Lion King called Paranoia.’

          ‘Why was he called Paranoia?’ asked Nawiti

          ‘You have to listen to the story, and then you’ll find out,’ I laughed.  ‘But the first thing you need to know about King Paranoia’s is that his biggest problem was that he was very frightened that somebody else was going to steal his throne.’

          ‘Why was he frightened?’

          ‘If a king steals a throne, then he tends to be very nervous that somebody is about to do exactly the same thing to him. Such a king is always afraid of his own shadow. Often he can’t sleep at night. If he does sleep, he often wakes up screaming. Never say ‘boo’ to a king, he might jump straight out through the nearest window.’

          ‘I always thought,’ said Nawiti, ‘that kings were very brave.’

          ‘In public,’ I admitted, ‘they behave very loud and pompous and threatening, trying to strike fear into everybody, but when they get home they are scared and frightened, cling to their wives like little children, and if anybody drops a plate they scream and run to hide under the bed.’

          ‘So what was King Paranoia frightened of?’

          ‘He was frightened of a little rabbit called HaHa!’

          ‘A big lion frightened of a little rabbit?’

          ‘That was one of the problems. You see, Haha had known Paranoia for a long time, and Paranoia was worried that HaHa knew that he was not really a big brave lion.’

          ‘He wasn’t a big brave lion?’

          ‘Not at all. He was just pretending, by puffing out his fur, roaring ferociously, showing his claws and frightening people terribly. Actually he was really quite a nice pussy cat, pretending to be a complete rotter!’

          ‘But why couldn’t Paranoia just behave normally, rather than pretending to be a ferocious lion when he was really just an ordinary pussy cat? Maybe people would have liked a little pussy cat better! Me, I like nice pussy cats, not big horrible lions!’

          ‘No Nawiti, you have to understand how it was in Mfuwe in those days. Previously the large lazy Hippopotamus had been in charge, and Mfuwe had become a complete jungle. The king and his fat friends were eating all the mangoes, Elephant was pushing down all the bamboo and selling it to the Chinese Panda, and Crocodile was eating all the monkeys. It was a particularly vicious sort of jungle called Free Enterprise.’

          ‘So Paranoia saved Mfuwe by killing bad Hippopotomus?’

          ‘Good gracious no,’ I protested. ‘Back in those days, long ago, there was something called democracy. The animals could get together and choose a new king to sort out the mess?’

          ‘But why did they choose Paranoia?’

          ‘Because he claimed to be the Lion King, saying that only the lions could sort out the mess. The lions from the north had always been the kings of the jungle, and they could control all the other animals. He promised to recruit the hyenas to protect the monkeys from the crocodiles, there would be more mangoes for everybody and the Chinese Panda would be chased all the way back to China.’

          ‘And did it work?’

          ‘Of course not. He was only a pussy cat, so he didn’t understand anything about the jungle.’

          ‘So things went from bad to worse?’

          ‘People were very fed up. They had been promised so much, but got nothing.’

          ‘So what did King Paranoia do then?’

          ‘The king explained that the whole problem was caused by HaHa the Rabbit. All the best efforts of the king were being undermined by HaHa, who had revealed to the monkeys that they were still starving and still being eaten by crocodiles. These seditious statements, explained Paranoia, were undermining his authority and the unity of the nation. This was why, explained the king, the hyenas had failed in their job of protecting the monkeys from the crocodiles because they were busy hunting down the enemy, a small dangerous rabbit.’

          ‘And did the king catch the dangerous rabbit?’

          ‘Of course not. Instead all the animals went rushing to hear what the rabbit had to say, thinking he must have some better ideas than a king whose total project was chasing a rabbit.’

          ‘And did the rabbit really have some better ideas?’

          ‘Of course not. The king was only trying to silence HaHa because he thought that he was going to reveal that the king was not really a powerful lion but just a scared little pussy cat.’

          ‘So how did the story end?’

          ‘The king made HaHa so famous that the people decided he would make a better king. He became King HaHa the Rabbit.’

          ‘And did he make a good king?’

          ‘Not at all. He was just as hopeless as King Paranoia.’

          ‘Oh dear,’ said Nawiti sadly. ‘And just one more question: Did HaHa really know that Paranoia was not really a lion but just a pussy cat.’

          ‘No,’ I laughed. ‘He had never even suspected it. A little rabbit can't even see the difference between a cat and a lion. The problem was all in Paranoia's mind. He was haunted by irrational fears that people were out to get him, and wasted all his time chasing imaginary enemies instead of getting on with the job of being king. He went down in history by giving his name to this unfortunate condition. To this day, this form of mental derangement is called paranoia.’

The First Press Conference

The First Press Conference

            I can remember the day clearly, as if it were yesterday. It was the morning of Tuesday 24^th September 2021 when Sara said ‘Turn on the TV, dear, Cycle Mata is having his press conference this morning.’

          ‘Dress conference?’ I said. ‘How can dresses have a conference?’

          ‘PRESS Conference,’ she shouted. ‘Are you wearing your hearing aid?’

          ‘No need to shout!’ I shouted angrily. ‘I’m not deaf. It’s just that you’ve got it wrong yet again! Firstly we don’t have a press anymore, it was banned years ago. Secondly, in ten years Cycle Mata has never held a press conference. Do you really imagine that he would risk his position in the Guinness Book of Records and destroy his reputation?’

          ‘Since you won’t do it,’ sighed Sara. ‘I’ll turn on the TV myself.’

          So saying, she heaved herself up from the sofa, reached for her Zimmerman frame, and began shuffling slowly over to our ancient Supersonic TV. She turned the knob, and the latest New Orleans hurricane slowly appeared on the screen.

          ‘You have to hit the screen with the flat of your hand,’ I advised. ‘You women don’t understand modern technology.’

          She did so, and a wizened old face immediately appeared. ‘Ha ha!’ she shouted in triumph. ‘Isn’t that the remains of Cycle Mata?’

          ‘Looks more like Robber Mugabby,’ I replied.

          ‘Huh,’ she said. ‘You never could tell the difference.’

          ‘He’s reading from his prepared script,’ I said. ‘So long as he doesn’t deviate from that, he’ll be fine.’

          ‘In conclusion,’ Cycle Mata was saying, ‘I called this press conference to explain how I have managed to keep all of my promises to the nation, despite the withdrawal of all foreign missions apart from our beloved Chinese brothers, despite the withdrawal of Western funding apart from Haiti, and despite the despicable UN sanctions. Despite these attacks on our sovereignty I have managed to end our dependence on copper and diversified the economy. Above all, I have found employment for all.’

          Now a huge fat fellow in dark glasses and a cigar stepped forward, saying ‘Our Great Leader will now take questions from the press.’

          ‘Who’s he?’ I wondered.

          ‘That’s Cycle Mata’s press aide, Gorgeous Fellah,’ said Sara. ‘Looks like he’s doing well.’

          ‘Scurrilous Slob from the Daily Scoop,’ said the first journalist. ‘I just wonder how you managed to achieve full employment.’

          ‘I employed a two pronged strategy which is now a model for the rest of the world. Half of the labour force ran away to UK and America to sweep their railway stations. The remaining labour force is being been sent to China to work in the coal mines.’

          ‘Wishy Washy from the Washington Post,’ said the next. ‘How have you ended the reliance on copper?’

          ‘The copper has all been sold to the Chinese, so we are now forced to depend on other things.’

          ‘Harry Hack from Hard Times. What other things?’

          ‘Weren’t you listening?’ Michael snapped, giving us a glimpse of the earlier waspishness which we knew when he was a young man of seventy-five. ‘I just told you, we export coal miners to China!’

          ‘Amiable Agness from Agricultural Action. Then who is producing the food to sustain the small remaining population?’

          ‘These Zambian farmers don’t like work, so I gave all the land to the hardworking Chinese. Their farms produce maize for local consumption and coal miners for export.’

          ‘Heavy Harriet from Hard Talk. Is Zambia a one party state?’

          ‘Certainly not. In fact we don’t even have any political parties. They were all banned in favour of national unity and working together amicably.’

          ‘Sceptical Sam from the Southern Sun. Is the Patriotic Force not a political party?’

          ‘Silly question from Silly Sam of the Silly Sun,’ cackled Cycle Mata, giving a rare glimpse of his dentures. ‘No, the Patriotic Force is not a political party, it is the government.’

          ‘Peter Pester from Political Probe.  It has been ten years since the last election. Are you thinking of calling another one?’     

‘Of course. We’re just waiting for the new constitution.’

          ‘Grumbling Gertrude from Grandma Guardian. When do you expect the new constitution to be ready?’

          ‘Very soon. In fact I’ve just appointed Judge Suckmore Chipoko to head the new Constitutional Commission.’

          ‘Quentin Querulous from the Quebec Query. Is it not true that you have all your political opponents locked up, that this is a police state and a colony of China, and that you personally own half of Scotland?

          ‘Idiot! Shut up! Shut up! Sit down! Arrest him! Arrest him for defamation! And for sedition! Deport him!’

          As Quentin Querulous was wrestled to the ground by six party thugs, two men in white coats appeared and took hold of Cycle Mata’s wheelchair, turned it round, and began wheeling him back to the palace. At the same time the Chinese Attaché stepped forward, saying ‘Thisee endee pressee confectionee. Pleasee standee to Nation Antemee.’

          Then all the Chinese dignatories, resplendent in their military uniforms, stood up to sing the sad remains of the Zambia National Anthem…

           

Stand and sing of Zambia, work for free

Land of work and sweat in colony

Labour in the dark for your copper

All gone, for a dollar

All gone, cheap and free

Praise be to China

Praise be, praise be,

Bless your great patience

Zambia, Zambia

Slave men you stand

Under the flag of your land

Zambia, praise to thee

All one colony.