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.’  

               

           

Witch Hunt

Witch Hunt

          ‘Mr Ha Ha,’ said the judge, as he leant towards the accused, ‘you have been charged with landing as mfwiti on the roof the girls’ hostel of Evelyn Horny College. You were found naked in the girls’ shower, thereby causing a great itching of the girls’ private parts and giving all the students such a terrible fright as to cause a massive and simultaneous blocking of all the toilets. What is your explanation for your inexplicable behaviour?’

          ‘Ha ha ha,’ laughed Ha Ha, ‘I wonder what is the explanation for your inexplicable accusations? I did not arrive by mfwiti, nor was I found naked.  I walked fully clothed through the front gate and talked to some of the girls.  They told me about the filthy condition of the bathrooms that had caused itching of their private parts.’

          ‘I’m not sure if you appreciate the seriousness of the charges against you,’ said the judge sternly. ‘You are charged with several counts of witchcraft which were deliberately aimed at bringing this government into disrepute. With your dreadful spells, curses, charms and incantations you have destroyed the students’ itch for education and replaced it with a carnal itch in their private parts.’

          ‘Nonsense,’ laughed Ha Ha, who was clearly enjoying this moment of fame provided free of charge by the government. ‘The problem of itching was caused by the Minister for Closing Colleges, the notorious Pompous Professor Red Hot Piri-Piri, who got the students into such a red hot rage that they were itching to…’

          ‘That’s another of the charges against you,’ interrupted the judge. ‘Insulting the minister is bordering on insulting the appointing authority, which is bordering on defamation of the president, which is bordering on contravention of the Section 23 of the Suspension of Free Speech Act of 1893.’

          ‘This trial is just part of a witch hunt,’ sneered Ha Ha. ‘You are just trying to blame imaginary witches for turning the Patriotic Fanfare into the Pabwato Fiasco!’

          ‘Ha ha, Mr Ha Ha,’ sneered the judge, ‘suddenly you seem to know a lot about witchcraft! I hope you also know that witchcraft is illegal under Section 257 Paragraph 279 Clause 59 of the Penal Code of 1892. We must observe the Rule of Law.’

          ‘Yes,’ muttered someone in the crowd, ‘We must observe the Rule of Law!’

          ‘Where is the Rule of Law?’ said another, as he looked around, and others looked under their seats.’

          ‘Perhaps the Rule of Law went to the toilet,’ said somebody else.

          ‘There’s certainly a nasty smell from the somewhere,’ chuckled another.

          ‘Silence!’ shouted the judge.

          ‘You are also accused of using your mfwiti to send a platoon of the Punching Fist Militia to Sudan, and then accusing the Perfect Farce of sending them there for military training. This dangerous long distance witchcraft was calculated to make the PF look foolish.’

          ‘They need no assistance from me,’ laughed Ha Ha. ‘They do it very well all by themselves.’

          ‘Ha ha ha ha,’ laughed the crowd.

          ‘You are also accused,’ continued the judge, ‘of putting powerful muti all around the entrance to Collum Mine to prevent it being visited by mine inspectors, thereby causing appalling conditions in the mine. That is how you deliberately caused a riot just to embarrass the government.

          ‘There is also evidence,’ said the judge, ‘that the same evil muti was used to disorientate the police when they attempted to question you at Lusaka Central Torture Station. This muti caused police to fire tear gas canisters into a closed space, thereby making you entirely responsible for their unprofessional and murderous behaviour.

          ‘The government’s entire programme of implementing its election promises has had to be suspended in order to counter your relentless programme of subversive anti-government witchcraft. You are therefore also being charged with treason.

          ‘I now adjourn this case until next month, when you will be found guilty and sentenced. Just count yourself lucky that you live in a democracy where we follow the due process of law.’

          Now the judge turned to the Clerk of Court. ‘Is that the last case for this morning?’

          ‘No, M’Lord,’ answered the Clerk, as a tall bearded man in a long white cassock appeared in the dock. ‘There’s one more.’

          ‘One more witchcraft?’

          ‘Even worse,’ answered the Clerk. ‘Christianity!’

          The judge looked severely towards the accused. ‘What is your name?’

          ‘Jesus Christ,’ he replied.

          ‘Don’t be funny with me,’ snapped the judge. ‘Taking the name of the Lord in vain is an offence under the Ten Commandments Act of 4372BC, Section 5.’

          Then he turned to the Clerk. ‘What else has he done?’

          ‘He announced from his pulpit that the poor are getting poorer and the rich are getting richer, contrary to the prophecy in the Gospel according to St Michael.’

          ‘Verily I say unto you,’ said Jesus, ‘I have never heard of your St Michael, and answer only to the authority of My Father who is in Heaven.’

          ‘Heresy!’ declared the judge. ‘In our Christian Nation the authority of scripture must be respected! I order him to be deported immediately!’

          No sooner had he spoken than Jesus began to rise vertically from the dock. Up he floated, up through the high open window, up and away.

          ‘That’s witchcraft!’ said the judge, as all eyes were raised to Heaven. ‘I should have given him five years for contravening the Law of Gravity!’

          ‘Two thousand years we waited for Him to return,’ said a voice from the back, ‘and He didn’t last five minutes.’

          ‘Silence!’ shouted the judge.

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.