See-See TV

See-See TV

          The Great Leader was beautifully dressed in his shiny yellow silk Chinese suit as he sat behind his huge rosewood desk, scowling dreadfully. He was scowling and growling at the latest story about himself on Yapdog, under the headline ‘The Great Leader Barks But Can’t Bite’. Then, above the gnashing of his ancient teeth he heard the sound of a polite knock upon the heavy mukwa door at the other end of his office. ‘Come in!’ he barked angrily, without looking up.

          Into the room came a little fat Chinaman dressed in a quiet grey English suit. The Chinaman then groveled all the way to the vast desk and stood there transfixed in a permanent half-bow. The Great Leader continued scowling at the laptop and barked ‘Don’t just stand there! Don’t you know who I am! Get down on your knees!’

          Finally the Great Leader deigned to look up, and saw nobody. So he stood up and peered over the edge of his desk, only to find the Chinaman groveling horizontally on the floor, and fast disappearing into the thick pile of the rich red carpet. He immediately ran all the way round the perimeter of the mighty desk to rescue the poor fellow.

          ‘A thousand apologies my dear brother,’ he said as he helped the Chinaman to his feet and dusted him down. ‘I quite thought it was one of my idiot ministers. Do forgive me. Come and sit with me over here,’ he said, pointing to an array of black suede armchairs over by the French windows.

          ‘How can I assist you?’ asked the Great Leader graciously, as they both sank into the soft voluminous chairs. ‘Or better still, how can you assist me?’

          ‘I am U See Me,’ explained U See Me, ‘and I have been sent by His Excellencee the Mighty Chinese Emperor, otherwise known as the Humble Servant of the Peepullee. He send me here to give you See-See TV.’

          ‘Thank you very much,’ said the Great Leader politely. ‘But we already have TV which we See-See every day. No need for more See-See.’

          ‘This TV velly differentee,’ explained U See Me. ‘With See-See TV you see if all the peepull are glateful to their Glate Leader. You can See-See what they are doing all the time. Velly See-See.’

          ‘Ah ha!’ exclaimed the Great Leader, ‘you mean CCTV!’

          ‘Ho ho no no,’ said U See Me, ‘CCTV is Chinese Central Television!’

          ‘No no,’ said the Great Leader in desperation,’ we already have Chinese Central TV. But we use Closed Circuit TV, which we call CCTV, to spy on poor people in Shoprite, to make sure that the starving don’t s steal a slice of bread.’

          ‘Oh no no,’ laughed U See Me, ‘this is not Closed Circuit TV or Chinese Central TV, this is the marvellee See-See TV. Not just to spy on the starving, but to spy on everybody!’

          ‘That’s not the way we do it here,’ explained the Great Leader. ‘I just spy on my enemies, not on everybody.’

          ‘But what about your friends?’ said U See Me, ‘Can you See-See them all the time? They might be your enemies!’

          ‘Hmm,’ said the Great Leader thoughtfully. ‘How much does this thing cost?’

          ‘Only $200million for one set of equipment to do Lusaka.’

          ‘I don’t know,’ said the Great Leader doubtfully. ‘My predecessor bought mobile hospitals to reach people where there were no clinics. But later he discovered that the places which had no clinics also had no roads. He made such an ass of himself that people are still laughing!’

          ‘Look,’ said U See Me. ‘See-See TV is not silly. It is your existing system which is silly. Your system works the wong way wound. All the people are watching the government on TV to see what you are doing wong. But the government is not using the TV to watch the peepullee to see what they are doing wong. See-See TV can install a devicee to look at them while they are looking at you. Any disloyalty will be seen immediately, and you can lock up the culprit. You can even search a dissident’s housee the very same nightee. Look for stolen library bookee and all such seditious attacks upon the state.’

          ‘I don’t know,’ sighed The Great Leader. ‘I’m already getting too many irritating phone calls from the American Ambassador.’

          ‘But with See-See TV,’ said U See Me, ‘you can keep your election promises.’

          ‘Such as what promise?’

          ‘Such as no development unless you vote for me. You just puttee See-See TV in every polling stationee, and you’ll see-see who doesn’t votee for you.’

          ‘Poof,’ scoffed The Great Leader, ‘I already know all that! And anyway I can never keep that promise because I always have to give more development to the ones who voted against, so that I can win next time!’

          ‘Ah ha!’ said U See Me, clapping his hands with glee. ‘See-See TV can make very sure you win next time!’

          ‘Really?’ said The Great Leader, now sitting up straight. ‘How does it do that?’

          ‘You just buy See-See TV and I’ll assist with your election expenses!’

          ‘Now that’s more like it! Why didn’t you say so before!’ laughed The Great Leader, as he now stood up and shook the Chinaman by the hand. ‘Then I’ll take four of them! On condition that this is a deal just between you and me!’

          U See Me looked nervously round the ceiling as he shook the Great Leader’s hand. ‘Let’s hope nobody can See-See!’

           

             

State House Invaded!

State House Invaded!

‘What on Earth’s going on in Lusaka?’ I asked Kupela. ‘Last week on Monday there were reports that the army had State House surrounded! Was it an attempted coup d’etat or what!’

‘Most people believe that Cycle Mata collapsed, and the army was ready to protect the nation from any one of his self-appointed successors grabbing the reins of power.’

‘But did he really collapse?’

‘Of course not,’ she laughed.

‘So why do people believe it?’

‘Because the story appeared on Yapdog,’ laughed Sara. ‘Everybody used to think their stories were all lies, just cooked up to embarrass the government. But then a month ago the government closed it down. So now they think that all the Yapdog stories must be true, and it’s the Lapdog press that’s always telling lies. Since Yapdog was officially closed down it has trebled its readership.’

‘Half a minute,’ I said. ‘If the government closed it down, then how does Yapdog publish its stories?’

‘This is the Third World,’ laughed Kupela. ‘Governments are too inefficient to achieve their totalitarian ambitions, and their spooks start to blab after a couple of beers.’

‘So what’s the true story?’ I said. ‘Did the army really surround State House?’

‘Oh yes,’ she laughed.

‘Why?’

‘State House was being invaded.’

‘What!’ I exclaimed. ‘By the army?’

‘No, of course not. By the DEC, the Dumping Ecstasy Commission!’

‘So what was the army doing?’

‘It was preventing any ecstasy dealers escaping over the wall, which at State House makes a very large and potentially porous perimeter.’

‘How do you know all this?’ I asked in exasperation.

‘My boyfriend’s sister has a friend whose niece has three boyfriends in the Shushushu, so all her stories are seriously cross-referenced.’

‘Good gracious,’ I said. ‘So what is the real story? Why did the DEC invade State House?’

‘Because of this dude Brave Kangalala, who had been accusing the government of persecuting its political opponents and critics with bogus charges. Anybody they wanted to fix, claimed Kangalala, they would just invade their house and search it for 24 hours until they find some incriminating evidence.’

‘But that wouldn’t work if they don’t find anything.’

‘If they don’t find it then they just plant it,’ laughed Kupela. ‘That’s why they’re called the Dumping Ecstasy Commission.’

‘Now one day,’ explained Kupela, ‘this same Kangalala accused the government of corruptly winning the election by making fake promises. Furthermore, he suggested that their failure to implement their election promises strongly suggested that they were high on something, because they all seemed to be wandering around in a daze, appointing ministers one week and firing them the next.’

‘So they arrested Kangalala?’

‘No, they’re not quite as stupid as that. They invaded State House and conducted a search. They saw a good chance to make a nice show that they could also investigate government, and of course to show that the government is not corrupt.’

‘And what did they find?’

‘Of course they found from all the computer records that the accusation of election fraud was not correct. Kangalala had claimed that the government had promised more money in your pocket, but it was found that they had promised more money in our pocket. Similarly the promise to reform the judiciary turned out to be deform the judiciary. They had never promised to finalize the constitution, only to digitalize the constitution. They never said they would reduce the price of fuel, only reduce the subsidy on fuel. Rather than reducing the number of ministers they had promised to redouble the number of ministers. There was no evidence of fraud or false pretences.’

‘What about restoring the Barotseland Agreement?’

‘That turned out to be deploring the Barotseland Agreement.’

‘What about doing everything in 90 days?’

‘That turned out to be doing everything in 90 decades.’

‘What about repealing the Public Order Act?’

‘That turned out to be retaining the Public Order Act.’

‘What about bringing the Freedom of Information Bill?’

‘That turned out to be burying the Freedom of Information Bill.’

‘Huh!’ But there still remains the little matter of creating five million jobs!’

‘They certainly promised that. But the DEC investigators found detailed plans to create 5,000 new civil service jobs in each of 1,000 new districts.’

‘And did they find any incriminating drugs?’

‘They did find a suitcase of suspicious looking pills under the bed of the medical doctor who was a relative of Cycle Mata. But according to the DEC report, these turned out to be Vermox de-worming tablets. The doctor had noticed that some horrible monstrous worms had wormed themselves into government, and she was planning a massive de-worming operation, beginning with the Cabinet.’

‘So they couldn’t arrest anybody?’

‘There was absolutely no evidence of fraud or corruption. According to the DEC report, the government was completely exonerated.’

‘I bet they thought of charging Brave Kangalala with something! Like causing public panic!’

‘But it was the army that caused the panic!’

‘They could have charged him with making false accusations that the government is corrupt.’

‘They wouldn’t want to risk arguing that in court,’ laughed Kupela.

‘How about charging him with planting ecstasy in State House?’

‘But the DEC didn’t plant any, so they couldn’t accuse him of that!’

‘How disappointing!’ I laughed. ‘They had to let him go!’

‘Don’t worry,’ said Kupela. ‘They’ll get him next time!’

A Distinguished Judge

A Distinguished Judge

            ‘You’ll soon be finishing school,’ I said to Thoko. ‘What are you going to do with yourself? Follow your mother into the fashion business? Maybe you’ll become a famous fashion model?’

          ‘Famous is not good enough for me,’ said Thoko, ‘I want to be distinguished. I shall study law and pass with distinction. Then I’ll become a distinguished lawyer and earn lots of money by saving rich crooks from going to jail!’

          ‘And also saving your poor grandfather from his rich creditors,’ I suggested.

          ‘Here in Kalakiland,’ said Thoko, ‘have we ever had a distinguished female lawyer?’

          ‘Only one,’ I said, ‘and that was a long time ago, about a hundred years ago. Her name was Lilomba Chibebebe, and she became a very distinguished Chief Justice.’

          ‘She got right to the top?’

          ‘Oh yes. She was very ambitious!’

          ‘A hundred years ago! She must have been very clever to get into school in those days!’

          ‘That’s where you’re wrong,’ I laughed. ‘The first missionary schools couldn’t attract pupils in those early days, and had to take the children of outcasts, lepers, mad people and that sort of thing.

‘And was Lilomba the daughter of outcasts?’

‘Good gracious no, Lilomba was the daughter of a chief, and should have been educated as a princess to understand and practice the traditional culture.’

          ‘So why wasn’t she given a proper education?’

          ‘She was rather a fat and clumsy child, and couldn’t master the art of traditional dancing. She lacked the wit and elegance of a princess, so she was sent away in disgrace to one of the missionary schools.’

          ‘Where she distinguished herself?’

          ‘No, not at all, she was very slow and ponderous. But after repeating five times, she did finally manage to pass to go to the new university.’

          ‘Where she distinguished herself?’

          ‘No, all that came later. But she scratched a degree in law and became a lawyer.’

          ‘Where she distinguished herself?’

          ‘No, all that came later. Her rather slow and ponderous brain wasn’t up to the adversarial cut and thrust of a courtroom argument, so she never won a case.

          ‘So what did she do?’

          ‘The only thing left, she stood as a member of parliament.’

          ‘And did she win?’

          ‘Of course. She was the daughter of a chief, so all her tribesmen voted for her.’

          ‘And did she distinguish herself as a parliamentarian?’

          ‘She didn’t need to. As the daughter of a chief she was immediately appointed as a Minister of State.’

          ‘So was she able to distinguish herself as an active and decisive minister?’

          ‘Er, not exactly,’ I replied. ‘Her great moment in life was yet to come. She was a bit slow and cautious for making quick bold decisions. But she was the daughter of a chief, so something had to be done with her. So she was made Ambassador to Angleterre.’

          ‘Where she really excelled?’ suggested Thoko.

          ‘She made a bit of a name for herself,’ I chuckled. ‘She tried to steal the husband of the American Ambassador, and a bit of a scandal had to be hushed up, so she was quietly sent home. She had to be given another job quickly to avoid the impression that she was in disgrace. Then it was remembered that she had a law degree. So she was made a judge!’

          ‘Where at last she distinguished herself!’

          ‘Not immediately,’ I admitted. ‘There were some funny judgments. When a man was accused of stealing an elephant she declared that the elephant was too big and must have been the aggressor. So she jailed the elephant for stealing the man. When two women both claimed the same husband, she settled the matter by taking the husband for herself.’

          ‘Oh dear,’ said Thoko sadly. ‘So she was in trouble again.’

          ‘Exactly,’ I said. ‘The Supreme Court had become very agitated and overloaded because all of Lilomba’s judgments went there on appeal, and all of her judgments had to be overturned. The whole thing was becoming a public scandal. But in those days it was almost impossible to fire a judge.’

          ‘So she had to be promoted to the Supreme Court.’

          ‘Exactly,’ I said. ‘They thought it would be a safer place for her.’

          ‘And was it?’

          ‘Not entirely,’ I replied sadly. ‘Everything was alright for the first twenty years, and everybody forgot about the previously notorious Lilomba.  But as time went on, the older Supreme Court judges retired, until finally she became the most senior, and was appointed Chief Justice!’

          ‘And now, at last,’ Thoko breathed a sigh of relief, ‘she was ready to really distinguish herself.’

          ‘Indeed she was,’ I said. ‘She invented an entirely new form of jurisprudence. One day, sitting in her office, she asked herself Why should I wait for parliament to make laws when I can do it myself? And the next day she asked herself Why should I have all these courts hearing both sides of a story when the law is clear? I shall make the judgments myself! After all, I am the Chief Justice!’

          ‘She took over the whole show?’

          ‘Exactly. Anytime she saw anything that she didn’t like, she just wrote out a judgment and sentence, and sent it by office messenger to the person who had offended her. And if one of her friends was annoyed by somebody, they would just whisper in her ear, and she would immediately send her messenger to issue another judgment and sentence. It was justice made simple. And it was an entirely new system.’

          ‘So she really distinguished herself!’

          ‘She certainly did. She destroyed the rule of law, she destroyed the constitution and she destroyed democracy. She really distinguished herself!'

             

           

            

Politics of the Dead

Politics of the Dead

          ‘Fantastic!’ I said. ‘Old Robber Mukote has just been re-elected president with sixty-one percent of the vote! A million voters found their names weren’t on the register, but a million who were on the register were already dead! And the African Union says it was a fair result! Ha!’

          ‘Poor Dad,’ laughed Kupela. ‘You’ll never understand it.’

          ‘Of course I can understand it!’ I spluttered. ‘The one thing I can never do is approve it!’

          ‘Oh don’t worry about that,’ laughed Kupela, ‘nobody has asked you to approve it!’

          ‘Look,’ I said, ‘this old man Mukote is about a hundred and ninety years old. He has been president for a hundred and forty years. How can the doddery old fool be governing the country at that age!’

          ‘Dad, you’re  not  in England now. You should know that here in Africa we respect old age. Even you, people respect you, even though you talk rubbish half the time.’

          ‘People may make the mistake of respecting seventy,’ I said, ‘but a hundred and ninety is a much more serious mistake. At that age he should be dead!’

          ‘He is dead,’ declared Kupela. ‘Since you imagine yourself to be a political commentator, I should have thought you would have known that!’

          ‘What! Dead? What nonsense are you talking?’

          ‘I also wonder what nonsense you’re talking,’ laughed Kupela. ‘You say that you understand but don’t approve. But now it seems you don’t understand either. Of course Mukote has been dead for the past hundred years. I thought everybody knew that!’

          ‘What!’ I hooted. ‘Then that only makes it worse! How can they have a dead man governing the country?’

          ‘Here in Africa,’ she replied. ‘People respect their ancestors. In times of trouble they always ask them for advice.’

          ‘But making a dead man president is taking things too far!’

          ‘As a general rule,’ said Koops, ‘the dead are much less dangerous. A dead man has never been convicted of anything in any court!’

          ‘Not true,’ I cackled. ‘Last month a Russian court sentenced a dead man to thirty years in jail for corruption.’

          ‘So now you’re agreeing with me that dead people can be quite active!’

          ‘I didn’t say that!’ I snapped. ‘I just said we shouldn’t have one as president. Where, outside Africa, could such a thing happen?’

          ‘North Korea,’ Kupela responded immediately. ‘After his death in 1994, Kim Il Sung was immediately declared Eternal President. And of course he is still president because eternal goes on forever.’

          ‘What nonsense you talk!’ I scoffed, ‘Kim Jong Un is the President of North Korea.’

          ‘No he’s not,’ said Kupela. ‘He’s the Supreme Commander. But Kim Il Sung is the Father of the Nation and the Eternal President.’

          ‘Let’s get back to Zumbumwe,’ I snapped.

          ‘Good idea,’ laughed Kupela. ‘Because His Excellency the Great Chikolwe President Robber Mukote is the Father of the Nation in Zumbumwe, so he will always be the Eternal President of the Zumbums.’

          ‘What nonsense,’ I laughed. ‘He’s president because he rigged the election. How do you explain the names of a million dead people on the voters register?’

          ‘You really have a problem understanding this, don’t you? Our ancestors are our advisors, and we have to seek their opinion at election time. Here in Africa we have equal rights for the dead, unlike the West where they are forgotten like yesterday’s garbage. Here in Africa we know that if we ignore our ancestors then we shall certainly bring down all sorts of unnatural calamities upon ourselves, as has happened in the West.’

          ‘So Mukote got his majority from the ancestors?’

          ‘Naturally the ancestors tend to vote for one of their own.’

          ‘So how do these ancestors actually reach the polling station and cast their votes?’

          ‘Now that’s a better question,’ said Kupela. ‘I see you’re now trying to understand all this. If you knew more about ancestors, you’d know that the spirits of our ancestors can return to Earth and inhabit the bodies of the living, especially in times of crisis, so that they can give their advice and cast their votes.’

          ‘So does this explain the million names that went missing from the register?’

          ‘Of course it does. Those whose names went missing were not allowed to vote because they had been selected to be inhabited by their ancestors who vote using the bodies of the living. These inhabited people are called the Zumbums, which is why the country is called Zumbumwe.  Here in Zombieland they are called the Zombies.’

          ‘But how does an ancestral leader stay active for a hundred years?’

          ‘There are various ways, even in the West. Like Count Dracula, who ruled Transylvania for a thousand years by sucking blood from the throats of his subjects. This is one way that loyal citizens can keep a dead leader alive.’

          ‘That certainly sounds familiar,’ I admitted. ‘Maybe there’s more to this interpretation of politics than I had realized.’

          ‘Now perhaps you understand why people say that Cycle Mata will win the election in 2021.’

          ‘Now I understand,’ I said. ‘They must have consulted the ancestors! And the ancestors will join the voters! But what happens when he goes to join his ancestors?’

          ‘Then he can rule for a thousand years!’

          ‘But if the ancestors are always in charge,’ I wondered, ‘how shall we ever get new ideas into politics?’

          ‘I don’t know,’ said Kupela. ‘We shall have to ask the ancestors.’