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!'

             

           

            

Question Time

Question Time

Friday night on the box is the Vice-President’s Question Time, starring Dotty Scotty as the hapless foot-in-mouth Leader of the House…

Speaker: I call upon the Honourable Member for Buka Buka.

Hon. Member for Buka Buka: Mr Speaker Sir, I rise to ask the Honourable Vice-President whether it is in order for the government to require opposition MPs to seek permission from the DC and the police before visiting their own constituencies?

Dotty Scotty: Mr Speaker Sir, if honourable members of the opposition wish to avoid this inconvenience, all they have to do is to join the ruling party. If the Honourable Member for Buka Buka would care to accept an appointment as a deputy minister, the government will provide him with a mansion and a chauffeur driven Mercedes for each of his concubines. Then he will be able to live like a king in Lusaka, and never again feel the slightest temptation to visit his constituency. All his problems will be over.

Hon. Member for Buka Buka: Mr Speaker Sir, is it in order for the honourable Vice-President to bribe me with the offer of a ministerial position?

Dotty Scotty: Mr Speaker Sir, I am grievously hurt that my well intended offer to allow the honourable member to serve his country has been so dreadfully misconstrued. Therefore my offer is withdrawn.

(General cheering and cries of ‘With immediate effect’)

Speaker: I call upon the Honourable Member for Namwanka.

Honourable Member: Does the Honourable Leader of the House have any explanation on why the Ndola Trade Fair had only 13 visitors this year, which is severely down from last year’s figure of 438,214?

Dotty Scotty: This disappointing result is due to this government’s diligent attention to the rule of law. Unfortunately the organizers of the Trade Fair had omitted to apply for a police permit to hold a public gathering, and therefore, under the requirements of the Public Order Act, the police had no choice except to close it down. Previously the opposition had claimed that the application of this Act was selective and partisan, so I am sure that the opposition will now be particularly pleased to see that in this case the application of the Act affected people of all political affiliation, age, gender, tribe and religion. I am sure the opposition would therefore wish to congratulate the government on this fair minded and even handed application of the law.

Honourable Member for Namwanka: Can his Honour the Vice-President please inform the House of the fate of the 13 people who managed to get into the show?

Dotty Scotty: Having failed to raise bail of K10m each, they are being held in remand prison until trial, hopefully before the end of next year. In such matters the government is keen to respect the independence of the judiciary, so nothing more can be said on that score.

Speaker: I call upon the Honourable Member for Chongololo.

Honourable Member: Prior to the general election of 2011, the ruling party promised that they would introduce the Freedom of Information Bill within 90 days. What has happened to this promise?

Dotty Scotty: This government always keeps its promises, and the government will soon put this Bill before parliament.

(cries of ‘When? When? When?’)

Dotty Scotty: When? When? I sometimes wonder whether my right honourable friends on the opposition benches are deaf. As I have already said, and as ruling party has always promised, the Bill will be presented within 90 days. I don’t know what more I can say.

Honourable Member for Chongololo: If I may ask a follow-up question on the freedom of information, when may we expect the president to hold his first press conference?

Dotty Scotty: I am somewhat taken aback by the lack of logic in this question, since the Honourable Member for Chongololo has himself just reminded this August House that the Freedom of Information Act has not yet been passed. Obviously, until this Act is passed, everything that the president says must remain confidential, which rules out any possibility of a press conference.

Honourable Member for Chongololo: When is this press conference likely to take place?

(Cries of ‘Within 90 days!’ from all sides of the House)

Dotty Scotty: I am pleased to observe that the Honourable Member for Chongololo seems to be the only member present who does not know the answer to his question!

Speaker: I call upon the Honourable Member for Sukulu.

Honourable Member: The Honourable Minister for Education has banned private tuition in order to maintain a level playing field in government schools. But is there a level playing field when all the ministers’ children attend private schools?

Dotty Scotty: Mr Speaker Sir, it is patently absurd for the honourable member to claim that all the ministers’ children are in private schools when no man can be sure how many children he has fathered, let alone which schools they are attending.

Speaker: I should caution members to come to this house with factual and verifiable information.

Honourable Minister for Chibuku: Mr Speaker, Sir, At last I have some important and verifiable information. The time is now 16.00h, and the Members Bar is now open.

(There is a mad scramble for the door, and Dotty Scotty is left alone, wagging his wobbly chin at the empty Debating Chamber)    

Die Laughing

Die Laughing

            Yesterday we had a visit from Aunty Cathy. Which meant, of course, another funeral in the family. Aunty Cathy is our organizer of funerals. I sometimes wonder how, after Aunty Cathy passes on, the rest of us will ever get buried.

          Sara’s nephew Emmanuel had given his life, a couple of days earlier, trying to defend his minibus from a mob of Punching Fist thugs in Kamwala. He had staked his life to save his minibus, but had ended up losing both. Just a routine little incident which never made the evening news, but it had affected our family deeply. As a peaceful nation, we are always shocked by the high rates of intimidation, thuggery, terrorism and murder.

Anyway, we shouldn’t complain. That was the mistake that Emmanuel had made. He had joined a demonstration. He wasn’t like the rest of us, content to defend his own two hundred square metres from inside his concrete fortifications, and ignore the screams from outside.

By now Aunty Cathy was explaining the distribution of funeral responsibilities. ‘If Sara and you could just buy the coffin,’ she explained, ‘that will be your bit. The only problem is, there’s been a terrible shortage ever since this government came into power. You may have to go as far as Kafue to find one.’

‘What about Chongwe?’ Sara suggested.

‘Don’t you read the papers?’ said Aunty Cathy. ‘That’s where the shortage is worse.’

As we were talking, we heard a banging at the gate. ‘Probably ZESCO come to cut us off,’ said Sara.

‘That won’t make much difference,’ I sneered. But when I got to the gate, and unbolted the fortifications, I found Uncle Kelvin and Aunty Mary. ‘Come in, come in,’ I said. ‘Nice to see the old landcruiser is still on the road.’

‘Indeed it is,’ replied Kelvin grimly. ‘We must thank the Lord for small mercies.’

‘Uncle Kelvin and Aunty Mary!’ exclaimed Sara. ‘So you heard about the funeral!’

‘Which funeral?’ they asked in unison.

‘Emmanuel,’ said Aunty Cathy. And so she told the story all over again.

‘Well,’ said Aunty Mary. ‘I thought our story was worse, but at least we’re still alive!’

‘Why,’ we all said. What has happened?’

‘The farm,’ said Aunty Mary, as Uncle Kelvin just sat there with his head in his hands. ‘It’s gone. Nothing left. The house has been demolished and the workers attacked and chased. Several of them were shot and some may be dead. They had lived on that land for fifty years. We managed to escape by the skin of our teeth. Our neighbour phoned us just in time after he saw the army coming, and we managed to get out through the back road. All we’ve got left are the clothes we’re wearing and the old landcruiser. But we're the lucky ones.’

It was some twenty years ago that Uncle Kelvin retired from the Ministry of Education. He and Mary had worked all their lives to establish that little farm for their retirement. It was all that stood between them and destitution.

‘Had there been any previous attempts to steal your land?’

‘It all started about three months ago,’ said Aunty Mary. ‘The Ward Chairman arrived one day and said that the farm belonged to the council and we had never paid the rent. But we showed him our title deeds. A month later he came and said that he had checked at the Council and Ministry of Lands and there were no records of the land being allocated to us. He said that the title deeds must have been obtained by dubious means and that we would have to vacate.’

‘So what did you do about it?’

‘We didn’t take it seriously. We just thought that the Ward Chairman must be an idiot.’

‘A couple of weeks later our workers found some party youths with pegs and string, demarcating plots. We complained to the police, but they said that they could not interfere in party matters. So we complained to the District Party Chairman, but he got angry with us, saying the party was working hard to stop land grabbing, and we were accusing him of corruption. We complained to the DC, and he told us not to worry, we should just have a word with the District Secretary.’

‘And did you?’

‘Yes. And the District Secretary told us that the previous council meeting had already allocated our farm to the DC, who had also been given planning permission to build twenty-four houses.’

‘So then you took it seriously?’

‘We raised the matter with our area MP, but she told us not to try to politicize the problem or we would regret it.’

‘So you hired a lawyer?’

‘Yes. And he managed to get a judge to issue a court order staying the hand of the council, pending an ex parte hearing of the interested parties.’

‘So you showed the court order to the DC?’

‘It was only yesterday when I went to see him,’ said Kelvin. ‘He tore up the court order in front of me and laughed in my face, saying that the judiciary was separate from government and could not interfere. He also told me that he was aware that my parents were born in Malawi, and that my citizenship status was being reviewed. Within less than twenty-four hours, in the early hours of this morning, the army arrived with bullets and bulldozers.’

‘My God,’ said Aunty Cathy, ‘I thought this government had a policy of fighting corruption, not innocent citizens!’

‘Ha ha,’ Kelvin laughed drily, ‘that’s a good one!’

‘I’ll tell you one thing,’ said Aunty Cathy seriously, ‘When Michael gets to hear about all this, he’ll take action and put everything straight.’

For a moment we sat there in silence. Then we all burst out laughing.

It’s better to die laughing.

           

            

Trapped in Zambia

Trapped in Zambia

            ‘Excuse me,’ I said, ‘I’m checking out this morning. I’d be obliged if I could have the bill.’

          ‘Certainly, Mr Kalaki,’ he said, as he moved towards the computer, ‘I hope you’ve enjoyed your stay in Hotel Zambia.’

          ‘I always enjoy coming back,’ I said, ‘to see how the old hotel has developed over the years.’

          ‘Here’s your bill, Mr Kalaki,’ he said. ‘It’s always nice to see our old regulars again. It’s only a pity we can’t attract foreign tourists. They always stay at the Hotel Victoria on the other side.’

          ‘You could try changing this tatty carpet,’ I said, trying to be helpful. ‘And what happened to the huge pair of tusks which used to frame to the entrance to the cocktail bar?’

          ‘Stolen,’ he said sadly, ‘by the previous management. The case is still in court.’

          I looked at the bill. ‘K750,’ I said. ‘Seems a bit steep.’

          ‘If you look more carefully, sir, I think you’ll find most of the charges were incurred at the bar.’ His phone rang and he picked it up. ‘Yes, sir. No sir. No, he’s still here sir. I was aware of that, sir. Everything is under control sir. Thank you, sir.’

As he was talking on the phone he took the money and issued a receipt.

          ‘Thanks,’ I said. ‘There’s just one more thing. I left my passport in your hotel safe.’

          ‘Bit of a problem on that one, sir. That was the General Manager on the phone, instructing me not to release your passport.’

          ‘What!’ I said. ‘What are you talking about! That’s my property!’

          ‘No, Kalaki. It’s now the property of the hotel!’

          ‘Look!’ I shouted. ‘I can’t go anywhere without my passport!’

          ‘That’s exactly what the General Manager said,’ he replied calmly. ‘In fact you’re to be confined to the hotel until outstanding matters have been sorted out.’

          ‘Oustanding matters!’ I shouted. ‘What are you talking about? I’ve just paid the bill!’

          ‘There’s no need to shout, sir,’ he said in a soothing voice. ‘Otherwise I shall have to call security, and that will be another case against you?’

          ‘Another case? What are you talking about?’

          ‘Last night in the dining room you were drunk and disorderly. Standing on a table and shouting obscenities.’

          ‘What! I was merely trying to attract the attention of a waiter. After twenty minutes of trying to attract his attention, my patience snapped.’

          ‘Yes, sir. And so did the table leg.’

          ‘Accidents will happen!’

          ‘Yes, sir. But we need time to conduct investigations. You see, there is also the question of the urine found in the swimming pool.’

          ‘I never pissed in the pool.’ I screamed. ‘I deny it!’

          ‘You may say so, sir. But the lab test showed a high concentration of brandy in the urine, so you have been identified as the prime suspect.’

‘What rubbish! I can’t be detained here to listen to such nonsense!’

‘And there’s something else, sir. Something more serious, and rather sexual and pornographic in nature.’

          ‘What! What on Earth are you talking about?’

          ‘A young woman was seen coming out of your room at 9.15 this morning, sir.’

          ‘That was the chambermaid. She was clearing out the empty bottles.’

          ‘You may say so, Kalaki. But I have to tell you that Beauty is the General Manager’s favourite chambermaid.’

          ‘I don’t believe any of this!’ I sneered. ‘Let me speak to the General Manager myself!’

          ‘That won’t be possible, sir. The General Manager is in Beijing, seeking investment funds so that he can turn Hotel Zambia into a first class hotel for rich Chinese tourists, and not have to entertain the local riff-raff in future.’

          ‘Riff-raff? Is that what I am? I’ve been coming to this hotel for the past fifty years!’

          ‘Yes,’ he said, ‘and the General Manager is most upset about the lies you’ve been writing on Watchdog about the poor service, piss in the swimming pool and the brothel on the sixth floor!’

          ‘Ah Ha!’ I exclaimed. ‘Now it’s all becoming clear! Now I understand the trumped up charges! Well, I’ll show you! You can’t trap me in this grotty place! I’m a free man! I know my rights! I shall get a court order forcing you to return my passport!’

          ‘You’re free to do so,’ he smiled. ‘Go to the judicial suite on the top floor, and ask for Judge Loveless Chikopo, I’m sure he’ll be able to assist.’

          ‘Chikopo! What’s he doing here!’

          ‘We give him free accommodation and allowances, in return for which he investigates and prosecutes all judges who issue court orders.’

          ‘If you think you can trap me in here you’re mistaken!’ I shouted. ‘I’m just going to walk straight out of here! Just watch me! Just try to stop me! I can’t be intimidated! I can’t be kidnapped in my own country in broad daylight!’

But even as I spoke I felt the handcuff close around my wrist.

____________________________________

But no, not handcuffs, it felt more like fingers closing around my wrist. I woke up with a start, to find Sara sitting at the side of the bed, taking my pulse. ‘You’ve been asleep for twelve hours,’ she laughed. ‘I was just checking to see if you’re still alive. It’s eleven o’clock! You shouldn’t drink so much!’

‘What!’ I said. ‘Why didn’t you wake me up? Christ, what day is it? Thursday! I’ll be late for the MISA meeting! I’ll miss my free lunch!’

‘There are riots all over town,’ she said. ‘We’ve all been advised to stay indoors.’

‘You mean we’re trapped in our own yard?’ I shouted.

‘Exactly,’ she replied.

     

           

             

The Police Station

The Police Station

           

            ‘Good morning,’ I said to the officer behind the counter, ‘My name is Kalaki. I need a police report on the loss of my driving licence.’

          ‘Certainly sir,’ she replied. ‘You just have to get a report form and fill in the details. That’ll be fifty pin for a report form.’

          ‘Oh really?’ I said. ‘I thought it was done free of charge.’

          ‘Maybe you thought a long of things, sir. If you read the newspapers you’d know that all subsidies have been removed. So instead of thoughting a lot of things and upsetting yourself, just give me the fifty pin, get your report and go on your way.’

          As it happened, I had just had an unexpectedly pleasing encounter with the very ATM that had in the past been continuously unsympathetic to my financial problems, and I was therefore on a high of financial exuberance. So I carelessly took a bundle of fifties out of my pocket, peeled one off, and said, ‘OK, darling, give me a report form.’

          She fixed a swiveling beady eye on my little hoard, suddenly whipped away the fifty pin like a chameleon catching a fly, and disappeared down the corridor. She came back only two minutes later with a blank piece of paper. ‘Here,’ she said, ‘just write down all the details.’

          ‘Excuse me,’ I said, ‘this doesn’t seem to be a report form.’

          ‘Report forms are out of stock,’ she said. ‘So just write me a report of what you lost and when.’

          As she spoke a grimy half naked figure appeared at the metal grill door behind the counter. ‘Please madam, I need to go to the toilet.’

           ‘Toilet!’ she screeched in mirth. ‘That’s a good one! Toilet!’ Then, turning to me, she sneered ‘Since the Police Service has been privatized, we get some very demanding customers.’

           Then turning back to the wretch in the filthy metal cage she said ‘My dear sir, I saw from the moment you arrived that you were a gentleman, accustomed to the very best. That’s why I took the trouble to give you the very best self-contained accommodation. You’ll find the bucket in the corner.’

          ‘Excuse me interrupting,’ I said, ‘but can I have a receipt for my fifty pin?’

          ‘Certainly,sir,’ she replied politely. ‘Receipts cost fifty pin.’

          Just then there was a kafuffle outside and then two youths were hurled into the station by a rowdy group of men. ‘We found them walking down the road holding hands!’ declared the leader of the gang of ruffians.

          ‘A blatant homosexual act in broad daylight, contrary to the Penal Code Section 1175, as amended in 1734!’ the policewoman squealed in delight, as she closed the steel door behind the pair of illegal hand holders.

          I was just about to again raise the matter of my police report when a man and his wife came in holding a young boy by the scruff of his neck. ‘This thief stole our son’s bicycle!’ shouted the woman,’ as if in a paroxysm of hate against all humanity.

          ‘That’ll be fifty pin to open a docket and fifty pin to write a statement,’ declared the policewoman, as the grill door clanged behind another captive. ‘Go to Room 6 down the corridor and speak to CID.’

          It was some time before she managed to return to me and my little problem. ‘Excuse me,’ I said, ‘I’ve written down the details here. What do I do now?’

          ‘You pay me a fee of fifty pin to sign and stamp it. Then we make a photocopy for our records and put it on file. That’ll be another fifty pin.’

          Just then there was a sound of running feet, and a man came panting up to the counter. ‘There’s a whole gang of thugs coming down our street with pick-axe handles and pangas, and they’re heading for the Evangelical Church!’

          ‘Why are you telling me all this?’ shouted the policewoman. ‘We’re non-political and non-partisan. We don’t take sides in these things! We don’t even have bullet proof vests, so how can we get involved in politics? I suggest you make a complaint to your member of parliament.’

          As he ran out cursing, I turned to the policewoman. ‘Look,’ I said, ‘Even if you can’t do anything yourself, can’t you phone HQ and warn them about an attack on a church?’

          She turned to me with a sneer. ‘And why don’t you mind your own business, just as I mind my own business? My job here is just to lock up people when there is a complaint against them, and release them when their relatives arrive.’

          ‘It’s a nice little business,’ I admitted.

          ‘This is just a peaceful community police post,’ she said. ‘My husband and I bought it during the time of privatization. Like all small business people, we just get on with our daily work, and keep out of politics.’

          ‘What about HQ?’

          ‘Now that’s big business. We keep clear of them. They have a contract with the ruling party.’

          Just then a distraught woman came in sobbing. ‘You’ve locked up my Billy for stealing his own bicycle.’

          ‘For only fifty pin,’ said the policewoman in a kindly voice, ‘I can release your son on police bond.’

          The policewoman turned to me. ‘You see how we keep both sides happy. The complainants pay to put them in, and then the relatives pay to get them out.’

          ‘Yes,’ I said, ‘it’s a nice little community service. I’m sure we’re all grateful. Now if you’ll just sign and stamp my police report, I think I’ll be off.’

          ‘There’s just one other thing,’ she said.

          ‘Oh?’ I said. ‘What’s that?’

          ‘I notice from your report that you lost your license last September. So there’s a fine of five hundred pin for driving without a license.’

Video courtesy of Flip artists: www.flipproject.wordpress.com

            

Unconditional Love

Unconditional Love

          ‘And here endeth the First Lesson,’ intoned Father McWhisky, as he lifted the Holy Book to kiss it, then lowered it reverentially onto the lecturn. It was Easter Monday at the Cathedral of St Ignominious, and Father McWhisky had sobered up for the occasion.

          He now looked benignly around at the large congregation, and gestured grandly to the high and mighty who were gathered on the front pew. ‘It is with great pride and pleasure that we welcome our Great Leader and some of his ministers, who have graciously found time to be with us this morning.’

          A murmur of approval went round the church, as the Great Leader bowed his head to show his humility in receiving such great appreciation, and as Father Whisky now continued by calling the congregation to partake of holy communion.

          ‘Who is this damn whisky priest?’ whispered the Minister of Injustice into the ear of the Great Leader. ‘Is he not one of those who signed the church petition against you? Is he not the one giving sermons about leaders who don’t keep their promises?’

The Ceremonial Vice-President, not wanting to be left out of any intrigue, leant over to the Great Leader and hissed ‘He is the very one who has been talking about the high price of mealie-meal, and claims that the poor are getting poorer.’ At which point the Minister for Illegal Detentions and Deportations leant over and said ‘Just deliver him to me and I’ll fix him!’

          ‘Let us go and take our holy communion,’ the wise Great Leader replied to his whispering friends. ‘This is a religious occasion and we must follow our religious observances and obligations. Let us keep religion and politics separate. We left our politics at the cathedral door, and we shall only resume politics when we get back outside. With these wise words, his scheming followers fell quiet, and followed their Great Leader to the alter rail to receive their holy communion.

          And when all the supplicants were back in their pews, Father Whisky led the congregation in a moving prayer for the health of their Great Leader, asking that he might bring the nation to further peace, unity and prosperity. ‘And now,’ said Father Whisky, ‘it is usually my duty to deliver a sermon at this stage in the service. But since we have our Great Leader in our midst, I have asked him to say a few words about the meaning of Easter.

          Slowly and majestically the Great Leader glided towards the lectern, rested his hands on each side of it, and fixing the congregation with his two beady eyes. ‘Christ died for us,’ he began. ‘He died because he loved us, and he loves us still. And it is written, in the Gospel According to Mark, Chapter 12 Verse 31, that Jesus commanded us to Love thy neighbour as thyself.

          ‘Even Father McWhisky here is my neighbour,’ continued the Great Leader, as he glared aggressively at the the congregation, ‘and I must love him as I love myself. Even though he has spoken against me, I must love him. Even though he has been claiming that I have been misusing my authority, I must love him. We must do away with quarrelling and division and instead live together in brotherly love. Some people come to whisper in my ear, saying that I must deal with this troublesome Whisky priest because he opposes me. But I say no. With love comes forgiveness and reconciliation. Only with love can we all work together for all humanity. So long as I am in charge, I want to see unconditional love, because this is a Christian country. May God bless you all!’

          Now the Great Leader stepped serenely down from the lectern, and began walking at a stately and solemn pace down the central aisle, as his scheming ministers scurried into line behind. ‘Our Great Leader has another engagement,’ announced Father Whisky. ‘Please all stand in honour of our Great Leader, in thanks for his inspiring Easter message, and in prayer that our Good Lord will bless us with many more years of his wise leadership.’

          Now, as the crooked back of the last crooked minister finally disappeared through the huge mukwa doors, Father Whisky stood with arms raised to Heaven, saying ‘Oh Father we thank you for such leadership, we thank you for this message, we thank you for this day, we thank you for the night, we thank you even for the flies and mosquitoes, we thank you for…’

          But he was interrupted in his potentially interminable prayer by the bursting open of the side door, through which crashed a cohort of policemen in riot gear with batons raised. Four of them grabbed Father Whisky and dragged him outside, while the inspector in charge ran to the pulpit and shouted ‘Father Whiskey is under arrest for holding a meeting without a police permit, for distributing alcohol without a liquor licence, and for falsely and corruptly claiming that he can arrange favours from God in return for money given to his church! In order to facilitate our security check, all party members should move to this side of the church, while opponents, insurgents, dissidents, critics and malcontents should move to the other side!’

          ‘My God!’ said one parishioner to another. ‘What happened to unconditional love?’

          ‘There was another sudden policy change,’ laughed his friend.

          ‘I thought the one party state was supposed to be dead!’ said somebody else.

          ‘Today,’ replied his friend drily, ‘is the day of the resurrection.’

                       

Kangaroo Court

Kangaroo Court

            ‘Grandpa,’ said Thoko, ‘I remember how you used to tell us stories when we were young. But even though I’m now grown up, can’t you tell me another one, just like you used to?’

‘Once upon a time, a long time ago in the land of Mfuwe,’ I began, ‘the animals always met around the Watering Hole to lay down the law.’

          ‘It was their parliament,’ said Nawiti.

          ‘Exactly,’ I said. ‘But on the day of this story they were meeting as a court.’

          ‘Oh no Grandpa, you’ve got it all wrong,’ laughed Thoko. ‘Parliament makes the law and the court administers it. We learnt that in Grade Seven.’

          ‘But Mfuwe was a peculiar place,’ I explained. ‘If a king had done wrong, the case had first to be brought to parliament to remove his immunity from prosecution. So the watering hole had now become a court.’

          ‘What had the king done wrong?’

          ‘The problem was with the previous King Nyamasoya, who was an old Dinosaur. Not only that, he was the last Dinosaur left in world. Tourists would come all the way from America and Germany to look at him. So he was collecting all the money from the tourists. The new King Chimbwi was very angry, because nobody ever came to visit him.’

          ‘I’m not surprised,’ laughed Thoko. 'I wouldn’t go near a Chimbwi, they’re very dangerous and unpredictable.’

          ‘They are likely to sneak up behind you and bite your bum,’ I admitted.

          ‘But half a minute,’ said Thoko, ‘being popular with the tourists can’t be an offence.’

          ‘Not in law,’ I laughed. ‘But it offended the new King Chimbwi!’

          ‘So they had to find something Dinosaur had done which offended the law?’

          ‘Exactly,’ I said.

          ‘So they had to set up a Kangaroo Court?’

          ‘You’ve got it in one,’ I said. ‘So King Chimbwi imported a genuine Kangaroo from Australia and made him Speaker. He’d got plenty of experience of being in charge of a Kangaroo Court, but he knew nothing about parliamentary procedure.’

          ‘A marvellous choice,’ Thoko laughed.

          ‘Perfect,’ I agreed. ‘So there all the animals were, around the Watering Hole. On one side sat all the animals of the Parasitic Front, the PF.’

          ‘Were they all parasites?’ laughed Thoko.

          ‘Not only that,’ I said, ‘but they had many other parasites living off them. And on the other side sat all the animals of Most Miserable Disgruntled, the MMD, who were the sad remains of the former ruling party, the Most Mighty Dictators. In between the two groups, down one end of the Watering Hole. sat the big Kangaroo, trying to look like a Speaker by wearing a silly wig.

          ‘And so little Kapimbe of the PF rose to address the Watering Hole. Mr Speaker Sir, King Dinosaur is accused of misusing his authority whilst king to trample and destroy a maize field on dates unknown, in a place unknown, in the company of other plunderers also unknown.

          ‘Hurray shouted all the Parasites, Yes, we saw him do it.’

          Then up stood the Elephant Mutanga on the other side, saying This motion cannot pass, the Parasites don’t have a majority!

          ‘Whereupon Kapimbe paraded ten guinea fowl in front of him, and immediately ten crocodiles swam across the watering hole from the other side and gobbled up the ten guinea fowl.

          ‘Point of order!’ trumpeted Elephant, Is it in order to eat guinea fowl at this August Watering Hole?

          ‘Point of order overruled declared the Speaker, There is no mention of guinea fowl on the Order Paper, so that topic cannot be discussed.

          ‘Point of order, insisted Elephant, The charges against Dinosaur should have been considered by a Select Committee before being brought to the vote.

          ‘Point of order overruled sneered the Speaker, It cannot be considered by a Select Committee because I never appointed one.

          ‘Point of information persisted Elephant, the king has royal right of passage from his palace to the river in order to bless the waters. We have no powers to lift immunity in matters where he was performing his official duties, even if he happens to trample all over a maize field, which of course would be illegal if done by anybody else. We can only lift his immunity for an act done in his private capacity.       

          ‘The charge is amended sneered little Kapimbe,  Dinosaur is now charged with an offence committed between last year and next year, at a place unknown, where he did steal a bag of groundnuts, of which there is now no trace, from an unknown mouse, now deceased.

          ‘Yes, Yes, shouted the parasites in unison, We saw him do it! He even murdered the mouse!’

          ‘Objection!’ shouted the Elephant, We also have to agree that lifting his immunity would not be contrary to the interests of the State!

          ‘Don’t be silly! laughed the Speaker, as his silly wig flapped around his head in wild mirth, It is very much in our interest! Otherwise we shall all have our bums bitten by King Chimbwi. Objection overruled!

          ‘Mr Speaker Sir, little Kapimbe groveled, I beg to move the motion to remove the immunity of Dinosaur.

          ‘I declare the motion passed by a Massive Mindless Majority, declared Kangaroo,  And further declare the reputation and independence of this August Watering Hole to have been destroyed forever.’

          ‘So he had done his job,’ sighed Thoko sadly. ‘What was his next job? Was he then employed to destroy the judiciary?’

          ‘No,’ I said. ‘A kangaroo from Malawi had already been brought in to do that job.’

          ‘So all the institutions of the state were destroyed?’

          ‘Yes,’ I said sadly, ‘Before all this happened, Mfuwe had been a civilized country. But now, as we know, it is just a jungle.’